


To Trope or Not to Trope

by Pyx



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: All The Tropes, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Dates, Awkward situations, Bets, Bookstores, Dirty Talk, Enjolras is a shit barista, Enjolras should maybe stop talking, F/M, Fluff, Grantaire has self esteem issues, Idiots in Love, In french, M/M, Nobody Dies, Slow Burn, Trolling, eponine and grantaire are my brotp, filthy filthy smut, i mean sloooowwww burn, in the future, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8753989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyx/pseuds/Pyx
Summary: Grantaire has been single and lonely for a few years now and Eponine says, "Hey, let's go to fanfiction locations and pickup dudes." And what kind of person would Grantaire have to be to say no? It starts with a half-assed attempt at flirting and dissolves into awkward conversations in French and English, too, I guess.





	1. Chapter the First

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! I wanted to write something really really cute and really fluffy and have a coffee shop au because this amazing fandom doesn't have nearly enough. Enjoyyyy~

It always starts with movies. And Eponine. Who, for whatever reason, really loves romantic comedies. The drive-in theatre uptown is having a showing of “P.S. I Love You”, which is equal parts depressing and beautiful. And it ends with the two of them sobbing their eyeballs out and clinging to each other. As they’re driving back to their apartments, Eponine attempts to lighten the mood.

 

“Do you...remember the coke commercial before the movie started?” And that’s not at all what Grantaire thought she was going to say, but he nods anyways. “I think we should try that. Being single for this long has gotten really depressing.”

 

“Try what? It all looked pretty domestic to me. Should we just walk into people’s home and start cooking them really delightful dinners served with coke?” Grantaire tries to say this bitingly, but it just comes out watery, because he’s thinking of that fucking movie again.

 

Eponine huffs out a laugh. “No, the bookstore part. We should spend a lot of time at bookstores and coffee shops, because cute baristas and cute people looking at books and shit.” She shifts in her seat, a little unsure of herself, but she huffs a small laugh. “And for the people we think we’re hopeless with, we can go up to them with cokes and say, ‘hey, would you like to share a coke with me?’ I think it could be a lot of fun.”

 

They drive in silence for a little while. A few times, Grantaire draws a breath to respond, thinks better of it, and remains silent. After a few minutes, he glances at her when they get to a red light. “Are you saying...that we should troll fanfiction trope locations?”

 

“Yes!” She responds, delighted. “That’s what it is. But with coca cola.” Grantaire gives her a look and she sighs. “Fine, you can do it without the cokes, but I’m gonna use them.” She curls up in her passenger seat and watches the passing scenery. “Seattle’s a good place to find men who wear really tight pants.”

 

Grantaire startles out a laugh. “That is true.” Out the corner of his eyes, he sees Eponine looking pointedly at his pants. “Wow, they aren’t that tight.”

 

“No, but sometimes, I wonder where you keep your dick.” And then a fresh bout of tears come out of her eyes. “What if I turn out like Denise?” She sobs. “Single and really fucking weird about it?”

 

“That would never happen to you.” Upon further reflection, though he would never say it, if there’s anyone in his life who would turn out to be Denise, it would be Eponine. Eponine is the only person he’s ever met who’s blunt enough to turn someone away instantly if she doesn’t like every aspect of them. But when Eponine loves, she loves with her whole being.

 

She seems momentarily appeased with that. “Do you...mind if I stay at yours tonight? I just...don’t want to be alone.”

 

Grantaire could never say no to her. “We practically already live together. I don’t know why we don’t.”

 

Eponine laughs, too loud for the quiet car. “Could you imagine the havoc we would create?”

 

“Yeah, I guess so. But it would be pretty convenient.” Grantaire pulls up to his apartment building and gets out of his car. “If we lived together, we should just get a house together.”

 

Eponine seems excited about that idea. “No downstairs neighbours to piss off and no upstairs neighbours to piss us off.” The elevator ride is slow and they collapse onto his sofa thankfully when they finally get to Grantaire apartment.

 

Grantaire’s sofa is by far the nicest thing he has in his apartment. A couple of his friends had dragged him down to a furniture sale a few months ago because he old sofa was garbage. But it was his, thank you very much. But he has found this beautiful three-person sofa for $150 when the original price was $2100. What a steal. So of course he got it. And it's luxurious. And now he frequents furniture sales once a month and gets new cool things. Like his telescope and his coffee table. The apartment that used to be considered ‘broke college student’ was slowly turning into something more along the lines of ‘chic hipster’, as Eponine called it.

 

“You have a lot of nice stuff. We could make our house look beautiful.” She curls up against his side. “Let's make a pact. How about...in the future, when we're thirty, if we're both still single, we should marry each other.”

 

Grantaire turns to look at her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “I guess I'm pretty enough for you.”

 

Eponine laughs. “You're pretty enough for anyone, R.”

 

They turn on the television to a cute kids show about a kid with three moms and at some point in time, they fall asleep on each other. In the middle of the night someone, Grantaire covers Eponine with a couple of blankets like she likes and then migrates to his bed.

 

\--- --- ---

 

When Grantaire finally decides to get out of bed the next morning, he thinks about what Eponine had said the night before. Not about marrying each other, but finding someone. It’s true that he’s been single for the better part of two years and at first he’d definitely enjoyed it. But… wouldn’t it be nice to find someone who’s beautiful and perfect and lovely and exactly what he needs?

 

“Eponine!” He calls out to the living room as he stumbles from his bed. “Ep! I’ve thought of an amazing idea!”

 

Eponine groans and obviously sounds like she doesn’t want to do anything that Grantaire wants to do. “No.” She says shortly and curls more into her blankets. “No. I don’t wanna hear it. Sleep. Sleep is calling me. Still.”

 

“It’s ten o’clock.” Grantaire says, exasperated. He pulls on a corner of her blanket (he’s probably the only one who could get away with it, seeing as Eponine would actually murder someone for disturbing her sleep. “C’mon, you’ll like this idea.”

 

She peeks her head out from the blankets, her eyes narrowed dangerously on Grantaire. “Will I? Will I like this idea more than sleeping?”

 

Grantaire shrugs and Eponine shakes her head, betrayed, and tries to cover her head again. “No, just listen okay? It’s kinda shallow, and I think you’ll enjoy it.”

 

“Shallow?” She sits up and pulls the blankets around her shoulders. “I’m listening.”

 

“We should make a list of our dream person.”

 

Eponine laughs. “That is incredibly shallow and also completely unrealistic.” She takes pity on him for a moment and stops laughing. “You have to know that you’ll never find someone perfect. Soulmates don’t exist, R.”

 

“Yeah, but if we’re gonna do this fanfiction trope thing, we should go all out.”

 

After a few minutes of thinking, Eponine finally nods. “Alright. Fine. Go grab some paper.”

 

So Grantaire does, and they spend about fifteen minutes writing out their lists. And Grantaire tries to think of everything that really matters to him. And then he thinks about things that don’t matter as much to him. And as he’s thinking of this list, he finally comes to the discovery that only one thing really matters. But he decided this whole list thing, so he scribbles down things that sound about right and shows Eponine his and she shows him hers.

 

_“The Perfect Mate” by Eponine_

 

Grantaire rolls his eyes, but continues reading.

 

_Tall, but not too tall._  
_Pretty, but in that quiet, shy kind of way_  
_Lets me do whatever the hell I want._  
_British? Or any other sexy accent_  
_Dresses like a fancy hipster_  
_Wears glasses (that would be nice, but not a must)_  
_He should be able to cook, because I’m shit at it_  
_Feminist. And god I hope he understands privilege_  
_I like sex rough, and I hope he gets that_  
_Will feed me fried foods when I ask for them_  
_Likes rom coms and cartoons_  
_Wraps me in blanket burritos_  
_Cats??????_

 

All in all, a pretty reasonable list. And Grantaire wants to ask about the cat thing, because Eponine doesn’t have a cat, and always sees like she doesn’t want one. But doesn’t get a chance to ask, because she’s laughing at his list.

 

“Hey! It’s supposed to be unrealistic!” Grantaire fights. But she keeps laughing.

 

“Good luck to you, R! I really mean that. If you find this person, we’re gonna be best friends forever.”

 

Grantaire’s list doesn’t have a title, just a few lines.

 

_Likes art and will spend copious amounts of time with me in an art museum_  
_Is literate_  
_Doesn’t say anything about my alcohol or tobacco consumption_  
_When I’m tired, they’ll bring me food in bed_  
_Is not an artist, because I don’t want to feel inadequate_  
_Can juggle_  
_Whistles nursery rhymes in the minor key when cleaning or cooking_  
_Loves me_  
_Makes me cookies_  
_Likes to do crafts_  
_Knits me scarves. And I’ll love them even if they are lumpy and missing stitches_  
_Smells like blownout candlesticks at the chime of midnight_  
_Randomly quotes Disney movies_

 

“Oh, R. This is the opposite of realistic. But you know what. You go for it.” Eponine leans over and gives him a small punch on the shoulder.

 

“What? Yours isn’t realistic either.” Grantaire objects, and even though her punch wasn’t supposed to hurt, he can feel a bruise starting. Eponine is crazy strong and crazy terrifying.

 

“Yeah, but...the nursery rhyme thing is a little too out there, R.” She stands up, leaving a mess of blankets in her spot. “I should probably get out of here. Gotta go do that work thing, y’know? Not all of us can work from home.” She winks at Grantaire and goes into his bathroom to wash up.

 

Grantaire watches her go and stares at his list. Maybe it is a little crazy to think that he can find someone like this. He really just wants someone who loves him. But the other things wouldn’t be too bad either.


	2. Chapter the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the trolling commence!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fam! Sorry I've been ooc for so long. I've been...busy... And also distracted because being an adult is way harder than I thought it was going to be. I should be able to start updating kind of regularly now. For everything. All of my fics that I kind of abandoned...

Even though Grantaire had written his list and had decided that was going to stop being such a recluse and start living a little. It takes him about two weeks to actually put himself out there. He’s been commissioned to do a recreation of a Monet, and his hand is tired and he’s sure he’ll finish before his deadline is over, so he goes down to the bookstore down the street.

It’s a cute little place and the walk is nice. Summer is a nice time of year in Seattle. Give it four months, and he’ll hate this place again. But until then, July is lovely and he really can’t complain that much about the city. That being said, it is still kind of warm outside and he’s wearing a light hoodie. And even rolling up the sleeves doesn’t make him feel that much better, so he ignores all of the books and heads straight back of the shop into the cafe. They brew a decent cup of coffee, better than Starbucks anyways, and all Grantaire wants is an iced americano.

He leans against the counter, maybe a little too suggestively, but he’s too warm to notice and pushes over his card when she asks for money. She’s not bad looking, but he thinks it’s inappropriate to hit on people while they’re working, especially when it’s their jobs to be nice to him. So he thanks the barista when he’s given his coffee and he slips in between the shelves of the art and architecture area.

He isn’t really try to find anyone yet. Elliot Bay Books has a beautifully open floor plan and it gives him the ability to see pretty much everyone on the bottom floor. Just so long as they weren’t looking at fiction where the bookshelves are fifteen feet tall. Grantaire sips at his coffee and decides to get at least two books on art, because, why not. And also, he’s an artist and he could always go for more references. And his fancy coffee table needs some nice reading while he pours drinks. Or whatever the hell it is that hosts do. When he hosts. Which is never. Coffee table books are literally just an excuse to buy more books on art, and the sooner that he recognises that, the sooner he’ll be happy.

He turns to his right after he pulls down a book on French Impressionism and pauses for a moment. There’s a woman next to him, and she’s quite pretty. And Grantaire is starting the feel the effects of his caffeine, so he figures, what the hell.

“Hello.” He puts on his most saucy voice. She blinks over at him, all green eyes and red hair tied neatly in a bun.

“Hi.” She smiles brightly after giving him a look over. And that’s promising, because Grantaire has never thought of himself as being particularly nice to look at, but she’s practically eating him with his eyes. And that isn’t what he wants...so…

“What brings you to section of lost dreams?” He leans back against the bookshelves, and smirks at her.

“Lost dreams?” She seems to falter just for a moment before she smiles expectantly at him.

“Oh, yes.” Grantaire leans towards her just slightly and she leans back much closer. “Didn’t you know that people who get degrees in art and architecture find out pretty quickly that life is not kind to them?”

She looks at the books in her hands perplexed. “I don’t think so. I mean, I’m getting my degree in art, and I’m sure that I’ll be able to find a job.”

“Pretty and talented.” Grantaire whistles. “I’m R.”

“Blake.” She shakes Grantaire’s hand and holds it just a little too long. “If you think that this is the area of lost dreams, then why are you here, R? Is it job security? Scaring off all the art students?”

“No. Artists are my kind of people and I think the world is better with more of them.” He wants to put distance between them, but that would maybe defeat the purpose of flirting. But he’s quickly discovering that he’s not at all good at this whole flirting thing.

“Then you’re lurking.” Blake cocks her head to the side and trails her hand up his arm. “Trying to find a pretty young thing to bring home?”

“Not exactly.” Grantaire sighs. “I rather enjoy finding books, but if I find a person, I’d consider it a novelty of my existence.”

Blake balls her hand in the top of his shirt. “Interesting take on life, R. Well, I’m here. And you’re here. Maybe we can find a secluded place between the rows.” Grantaire takes a moment to read her face and body language before determining that she’s actually being serious.

He shakes his head. “Not here.” He tries to say it like it’s obvious, but internally, he’s panicking.

Blake takes a step closer to him and presses flush against him. “What life without a little adventure?”

Grantaire is done. Forever maybe. He doesn’t mind being single. Is this what it means to try to pick someone up at a bookstore? If so, he’s never doing this again. But at least, Eponine will enjoy the story. He pulls himself away from her and holds his books up so she can’t get any closer. “Nope.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Blake looks heartbroken and when Grantaire doesn’t answer, she starts to laugh a little maniacally and Grantaire takes that as his cue to run far far away from here.

He heads straight for the checkout, hardly paying attention to the person ringing him out and he pushes his card over again when he’s prompted. But he takes a pause when he hears the voice. But he thinks he sees Blake coming towards him again so he keeps his eyes on the rest of the store. When he takes his books, he confronted by the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life. And Grantaire finds himself vying to stay at this counter and learn everything about this Adonis. But instead, a receipt to sign is pushed roughly in his direction. He has the urge to say something, to flirt, to do anything rather than just stand there in bewilderment.

“Have a good day.” The Adonis grits out as he shoves his books over and Grantaire takes that as the most clear rejection he’s ever received.

Grantaire leaves the bookstore in a daze. There shouldn’t be a man on earth that’s that beautiful. And Grantaire almost goes back in if not to just look at his face. Cheekbones of marble and clear blue eyes. Very clearly in his twenties somewhere, but could also pass as a seventeen year old girl. And that hair! Grantaire could wax poetics about that hair for the entirety of his life. Soft and golden, falling in beautiful curly tresses to his chin.

And then he remembers Blake and runs home.

\--- --- ---

Eponine plops down on his sofa as he paints, sighing loudly enough for it to be considered a quiet groan. Grantaire spares her a small glance as she curls more and more into his sofa. She’s found her blankets again and stares at Grantaire until finally he sighs and puts down his brush.

“Talk to me.”

“Men are creeps.” She says instantly.

“Wow. Rude.” Grantaire stands from his stool and goes to sit with her, managing to pull out some blanket so they can share. “Not all men, Eponine.”

She attempts to whack his arm, but is thwarted by the blankets and it feels more like a cushiony bump. “Don’t be an ass, R.” She turns enough so she can put her head on his shoulder. “I mean, I’ve been trying this flirting thing, and lemme tell you, they’ll go for anything. I’ve tried trolling, and they all just eat it the fuck up. I’m very clearly not serious when I’m talking to them, but they don’t get it. They just want all of this.” Eponine gestures to her body under the blankets, but Grantaire gets what she means. “Make me feel better.”

Grantaire hesitates a moment and then recounts his story of being in the bookstore. She laughs harder than he’s ever seen her laugh. “I call bullshit, Grantaire. There’s no way in hell that someone would suggest public sex in a bookstore.” She laughs even harder at his expense when his face goes red. Grantaire knows quite well though that she would never make him feel bad about himself. “I’m so happy this shit doesn’t happen to me.” She says a little dryly, pretending to wipe tears from her eyes.

“You know...maybe I could come with you?” She stares at him in shock, mirth vanishing from her face. “I mean, I’d keep my distance, but when peeps start being creepy, I’d come out of nowhere and make up some bullshit story?”

“R, from what you just told me about what happened in the bookstore,” Grantaire winces. “You don’t know shit about making up bullshit, okay?”

“That is not true. I know how to bullshit my way through most things. Just not...in intimate situations…” Grantaire runs a hand through his hair even though he’s sure the paint on it had definitely not been dry.

“Oh! Then let’s teach you!” Eponine stands up from the sofa, throwing blankets everywhere. “Let’s go out tonight! I don’t work tomorrow and you don’t work at all. C’mon...it’ll be fun!”

“I dunno, Ep. Teaching someone how to flirt sounds a little middle school.” But it sounds like it could be fun and Grantaire wants to agree, but staying at home sounds really nice too.

“I could teach you how to fuck with people. If nothing else. C’mon, that’d be really fun.”

Grantaire sighs and realises that they would definitely have fun screwing around with people in a bar. “Alright, fine. But don’t expect me to look nice.”

“What? I’m going out just like this.” Eponine gestures to her skinny jeans and Star Wars t-shirt. She glances at the clock in his kitchen. “It’s the perfect time to go out.”

“It’s still light out.”

“It’s summer. The sun doesn’t go down until ten these days.” She raises her eyebrows at him and cocks her head towards the door.

“Alright! Let’s go.” Grantaire drops his paintbrushes into a mug of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! I'll try to get the next one out in the next couple of days. Please tell me what you think and if you found anything weird... <3 Also, sorry it's kind of short, the next chapter goes on forever, and I needed to break it up somehow.


	3. Chapter the Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEY LOOK AT THAT! TROLLING!

Three shots in and Grantaire is starting to feel a little more comfortable about this decision. Eponine runs her fingers through her hair and turns around on her stool, her elbows on the bar, and surveys the bar. She locks eyes with a guy across the bar and she winks at him. And she’s beautiful, so of course he comes over.

“This is how it’s done.” She whispers quietly to Grantaire. The man sits in the stool next to her and leans just a little too close.

“Your glass looks like it needs some refreshing.” Eponine turns to look at him and runs her eyes over his body. He isn’t bad looking, but he doesn’t fit her list, so what’s the point.

“Your observations are correct, stranger.” She smiles at him, all poisoned honey.

The man leans across the counter to get the bartender’s attention. “Another one for the lady, please.”

Grantaire sees Eponine twitch in annoyance. But she bites in the inside of her bottom lip like she does when she’s reigning herself in. But unfortunately, it also looks like she wants to be kissed. “You can call me Eponine.” Not lady, that isn’t added, but Grantaire knows her well enough to know that that’s implied.

“I’m Jack.”

“Lovely to meet you Jack.” Another gin and tonic is set on the bar and Eponine immediately takes it in her hands. You can never be too safe when it comes to someone else buying your drinks. At least Grantaire is there. “Tell me, mister. What is your zodiac sign?”

“Cancer…?” Jack says a little confused.

 

“Hang on.” Eponine pulls out her phone and scrolls for a few moments. “Shame. It says here that we aren’t meant to be. It says that we rarely fall in love and never at the same time.” She sighs dejectedly. “I’m looking for real commitment right now.”

“Who cares what some websites says about us, baby?” Eponine visibly flinches, but Jack doesn’t notice. “They’re just stars.”

“And we were born under them and created from them. What would we be without stars, Jack? We wouldn’t be anything.” Grantaire is staring fixedly at his whiskey, trying hard not to start laughing. “I’m an astrologer. Lemme tell you about sagittariuses, Jack. We are a fun-loving bunch and we’re adventurous. I don’t think cancers have that same amount of adventurousness.”

“I bet you we do.” Jack hasn’t taken a hint quite yet.

Eponine stares at the man for a long, long time. “You know…I think I’d much rather date a Leo. Cancers have a tendency of being needy and clingy. And I’m looking for someone more...oh, I dunno. Someone a little more understanding of my need for exploration.” She dismisses him with a wave of her hand. Jack leaves, kind of pissed, but keeps his anger in check because Eponine is very obviously not a force to be reckoned with.

She turns towards Grantaire. “So, you gonna buy me a drink too?”

Grantaire looks at the still full drink in her hand. “No. I’m not. Buy your own damn drinks.” He says once Jack in out of earshot. “That was…interesting.”

“I’m kind of off my game tonight. Let’s settle the bill and try a different bar.” Eponine downs her drink and places it on the counter. Grantaire follows suit and they leave for the next bar.

Eponine takes a seat at the bar and Grantaire sits one seat away from her. They’re close enough for Grantaire to hear her, but not close enough for people to think that they’re together. Eponine orders herself an all-too-fruity drink and Grantaire gets himself whiskey over ice. She adopts a sort of a lost air about her and twirls her drink in her hands, sipping gently through the straw.

Like before, it doesn’t take too long before someone is sidling up between her and Grantaire. “Well, hello.”

“Hi there.” She smiles up at him, all sweetness and joy.

This man is ridiculously more lascivious than the last one, leering all over her. Grantaire wants to intervene and pull the man away from her, but Eponine shoots him a look when he isn’t paying attention.

“So...you want me to buy you a drink? Or do you just wanna get out of here?”

Eponine leans towards him, a carefully sly look in her eyes. “You don’t even know my name, mister.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Oh, wow!” Eponine looks a little delighted and it isn’t because she was just propositioned sex.

The man leans closer towards her and she brings her drink off the counter and close to her face, sipping seductively from the straw. “I do want you to know my name though. I wanna hear you moan it later.”

Eponine giggles and she very clearly wants to tear this man apart. “Ooh. Well, I need at least two glasses of milk beforehand.” She takes a sip of her drink

The man turns towards the bartender. “Hey, can I get a glass a milk.” He turns to Eponine and says not very quietly. “Your next glass of milk will be my milk.” The man turns back to the bartender just as Eponine kind of spits out her drink and sends Grantaire a horrified look.

The bartender gives the Eponine a worried look, but they share a look of feminine understanding. So that’s good. Eponine downs the rest of her fruity drink, not missing the way the man leered towards her. But she goes straight for her milk, not giving him a chance to do anything to it.

Grantaire is worried and he pushes his drink away and watches them intently, but Eponine gives him a look that keeps him in his seat.

“So, tell me about yourself.” She’s still playing the part of a sweet, naive girl even though she’s leaning away from him.

“I’m an entrepreneur, starting my own company. But you don’t want to hear about how successful I am. I’d rather tell you about how I’ll be pleasing you tonight with all ten inches. You’ll be feeling me for days.”

Eponine’s face twists. “You’re awfully full of yourself.” Her voice is deepening with a certain disgust she usually reserves for people she hates.

“You’ll be full of me later too.”

 

She stands and lets out a frustrated noise. “You’re disgusting. I don’t even know where to start. How are you even alive? How do you look yourself in the mirror and think, ‘Ooh, I think I’m a really dashing and charming man. Let me harass sweet, young things at bars’? I just need to know. Actually, scratch that. Your existence grates me.” He reaches for her and she slaps the hell out of the top of his hand and he recoils in pain and shock. Eponine leans towards him and twists her fist in the collar of his shirt. “Don’t. Ever. Touch me.” She turns towards Grantaire. “Let’s get the hell out here.”

As they’re getting ready to leave, she turns to the bartender. “This asshole right here is paying for the two of us. He is _successful_ after all. Thank you.” Her last words are spoken sincerely and she stomps out of the bar.

Grantaire is ready to make sure she’s alright and make sure that she lets out all the anger that she’s feeling, but a man is rushing out of the bar after them. “Excuse me.” He has a thick French accent. “Excuse me!” He catches up to them. Eponine turns to him expectantly, looking murderous. “I’m sorry you went through that. But I just want to say that you are…” He drifts off a moment and mutters a word in French and Eponine’s face lights up with fondness.

She takes him by the hand. “ _Merci beaucoup, mon cher_.” She seems to look him up and down. “ _Dis-mon ton nom, s’il vous plait_.”

“ _Je m’appelle Combeferre_.” They stand like that for a moment too long and Grantaire feels acutely out of place. And considering he doesn’t speak a lick of French, it’s that much more awkward. So he clears his throat and that seems to shock the both of them out of their revere.

“Uhm…” Eponine says, and it’s weird because she always has something to say.

“I hope to see you again.” Combeferre lets go of her hand and gives her one last smile before going back into the bar.

All traces of her being angry are gone when she turns to look at Grantaire. Very quietly, she says to herself. “Le coup de foudre.” And she walks in a daze back to Grantaire’s apartment.

Grantaire doesn’t speak, doesn’t press her, doesn’t do anything but follow behind her carefully. Until about halfway home, Eponine stays quiet. She wheels around and grabs Grantaire by the shoulders. “Am I so drunk that I’m thinking it’s a mistake to leave him behind? Should I go find him?” She looks so desperate and then her face falls. “Never mind. Let’s go home.”

In that instant, Grantaire makes his life goal to find Combeferre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! They met each other!


	4. Chapter the Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is the most amazing friend in existence. And I want him to be real so we can be bffls and...more.

Eponine wants to be in love. So badly. After having her heart broken a couple of years ago, she feels like it’s time to finally find someone who’s perfect in every way. She may have been mildly joking while writing her list, but there’s a lot of truth to it. She wants someone perfect, and quite honestly, she deserves someone perfect. She’s settled before in the past and it’s always nipped her right in the ass. She’s learned in her years of dating that men will say things to her to keep her in their possession. Hashtag Not All Men. She’s well-aware that there are men that exist that are capable of being good and not weird and Seattle is cool enough. And there are lots of tech companies. So many nerdy hipsters. Like Combeferre.

And as much as she’s tried to for the last two weeks, she can’t get Combeferre out of her head. She could do the reasonable (creepy) thing and search for him on Facebook, but there’s something to be said about people that stalk people on Facebook. That they’re desperate. Eponine isn’t quite there. Yet.

But, like any normal self-sufficient adult, Eponine has a job with long hours. She loves her job and she loves the people she gets to interact with and most importantly, she loves the animals she helps. Being a veterinarian is the most fulfilling job she ever could have gotten for herself. Unfortunately, trying to meet people who aren’t already committed to their pets or married is difficult, nay, impossible.

So she buries herself in her work, refusing to let her receptionist take care of the paperwork regarding her animals and bringing it home to forget about life for a while. And when she isn’t working, she spends her time rereading the taxonomy of the animal kingdom and studying anatomy and physiology. It’s kind of nice to just work and talk to her animals while they’re under or while she’s just doing check-ups. Grantaire says that she should just get a therapist. But getting a therapist requires giving money away to talk about her problems to someone who may or may not understand. So, it’s probably just best for her to just talk to cats and dogs and ferrets and rabbits. Et cetera.

She expects this routine to go on for the rest of her life. Lonely, but morally fulfilling. She doesn’t need anyone. She belongs to no one and she’s self-sufficient and that’s all she’s ever wanted since she was a small child. So life isn’t all bad.

What she doesn’t expect is for Grantaire to break into her apartment in the middle of the night holding a French flag and a jug of orange juice. She immediately reaches for the telescopic baton next to her bed and is ready to strike before she notices who it is.

“Were you about to hit me with that?!” Grantaire falls to the floor from the window with a painful noise.

“What the hell do you think?! What are you doing coming through my window? I have a surgery in the morning!” Eponine wraps herself in her a blanket and stands from her bed. “And you know damn well that I sleep naked.”

“Yeah, I’m well-aware of your sleeping habits. And it’s never stopped you from coming in on me in the middle of the night.” Grantaire kindly averts his eyes while Eponine goes to look for clothes. “Anyways, I’m here with really good news for you. Do you remember that really nerdy beautiful French dude from like two weeks ago?”

Eponine groans with her entire body and drops her chin to her chest. “Thanks for the reminder.” Combeferre felt like a soulmate and she doesn’t even believe in that kind of garbage.

“I found him.”

Eponine’s heart stops and she wheels around to stare at Grantaire, almost tripping over her sheets in the process. She opens her mouth to say something, but she just remains silent, heart pounding wildly, breath coming in short rapid heaves. “What.” She manages to whisper.

“He’s a doctor at Swedish.” Grantaire hands her the bottle of orange juice and she downs it to calm her thrumming nerves. “You’d like this; he’s a pathologist.”

“How?” She’s feeling better now that she’s finished off half a litre of orange juice.

“Facebook.” Grantaire shrugs. Truth be told, he’d gotten desperate to find him. He’d just given up and decided to do the creepy thing. Besides, there’s only one Combeferre in Seattle.

Eponine sinks to her floor, clutching at the bottle of orange juice, eternally grateful that she had it. If anyone knows her, it’s Grantaire. Orange juice is her personal anxiety medication. “Well, what the hell do I do?”

“Schedule an appointment and say that you think you have some horrible disease.”

Eponine raises her eyes to look at Grantaire incredulously. He’s serious. “No.” She shakes her head. “No.” She says a little more forcefully. “What the fuck.”

Grantaire stays silent a moment and then lets out this noise like a dying whale and plops himself down in front of Eponine. “Also...he’s an activist.”

“Oh.” Eponine gets it. She knows Grantaire. He doesn’t believe in anything political, claiming that he’s been let down too many times to count. And he’s going to some extraordinary lengths to help Eponine if it means entering some political things against Trump. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“This isn’t about me. I did it for you.” Grantaire wraps his hand around hers and she lets go of the juice jug to intertwine their fingers. She just nods numbly.

“What’s the French flag for?”

Grantaire laughs. “For your Frenchman.”

“Oh god.” She laughs and realises that she’s never had a better friend than Grantaire and probably never will.

“Their meetings are on Wednesday evening at that one gay cupcake place in Madrona.”

She nods. “I’ll drive. And I’ll buy you a drink after.”

“Nah, I should probably calm down on the alcohol.” Grantaire yawns and makes his way out of Eponine’s room. “Hey, I’m gonna crash on your couch until morning. Sorry for breaking in.”

Eponine waves at him from her spot on the floor and thinks about Combeferre and his too-tight pants and his sweater vest and his thick rimmed glasses. She’s going to see him again and that makes her blood thrum in her veins. Grantaire deserves something nice for this.

\--- --- ----

God must either really love Grantaire or really fucking hate him. And Grantaire is willing to bet his life on the latter. Combeferre is sitting at a table chatting idly with none other than that beautiful man from the bookstore. Eponine orders them both espressos and talks with the barista, because they’re nice and it’s weird to just stand there and not ask them about how their days are going. Or at least that’s how she feels.

The Greek God raises his eyes as though he feels eyes on him and immediately locks onto Grantaire. There’s a weird moment of confusion, before recognition becomes evident on his face and his eyes narrow. He says something to Combeferre and Combeferre looks up, but he doesn’t see Grantaire first, he sees Eponine.

He stands as though in a daze and completely ignores his friend as he makes his way over to Eponine. She remains (seemingly) oblivious as he approaches her, and when he does, he gently takes her by the elbow. “ _Mademoiselle_.”

Eponine turns and they just stare at each other, for a time far too long. “ _Bonjour, monsieur. Ca va_?” She gets a weird look on her face, like she wants to kick herself, but Combeferre doesn’t seem to notice, just grazes his fingers down her bare forearm to her hand and she takes it and squeezes gently.

“ _Ca va. Non, tres bien. Je n’ai jamais pense que je vous reverrais_.” Instead of answering, Eponine just shakes her head and steps close to him and hugs him tightly.

Grantaire turns away to give them privacy and sits at the table across from the beautiful man. “Hi.”

“Hello. In a hurry today?”

“Not really. I heard about your activism group, and I thought I’d join in for a meeting.” The golden man seems satisfied with his answer and leans backwards, a little more comfortable in his seat. “I’m Grantaire.”

“Enjolras.” Enjolras extends his hand and Grantaire takes it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you too.” It’s just a little awkward and Grantaire clears his throat and lets go of Enjolras’ hand. “So…please tell me y’all are anti-Trump.”

Enjolras laughs, if not a little desperately. “At the very least, yes.”

“Thank the stars.”

Eponine and Combeferre return and sit just a little bit too close to each other, gazing into each other’s eyes reverently. Enjolras regards the two of them with clear confusion, as though he’s never witnessed two people in a relationship before. And to be completely honest, Grantaire has literally never seen Eponine like this; soft and open. The girl has built a fortress around her heart, and like this, she doesn’t at all seem like it.

A loud group of people come in and drop all their stuff down at their table and give Grantaire and Eponine approving looks before getting their coffee. While they’re waiting, a dark haired man comes up to Grantaire and places his chin on his shoulder.

“So, you’re new.” He smells like sugar and coffee and Grantaire thinks he probably shouldn’t drink anymore caffeine. “I’m Courfeyrac.”

“Grantaire.”

“Ooh! Another French name. There’s a lot of us here. We should just call ourselves ‘Americans with French Names’.” Combeferre looks away from Eponine for a moment to regard Courfeyrac.

“ _Je suis Francais_.” Like a reminder.

Courfeyrac shrugs and pulls away from Grantaire. “’Americans with French Names Plus Combeferre, Who is Actually French.’” He nods as though satisfied with that.

Enjolras shakes his head fondly. “Seems like that would be quite the mouthful.”

“And it wouldn’t exactly get our point across.” A beautiful person with flaming red hair tied is a gentle braid comes up behind Courfeyrac and hands him a sweet-smelling drink and cupcake. “I think our name is fine.” They notice Grantaire. “Jehan Prouvaire.”

“Grantaire.”

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Jehan plays with their braid and looks around at the rest of the group. “We’ll do introductions when our meeting begins. I’d hate for you to repeat yourself a dozen times.” Grantaire instantly likes Jehan and Courfeyrac.

“Bahorel?” Grantaire squints his eyes at the man and grins. “You’re here too?”

“Hell yes, man.” Bahorel is a towering man with geometric tattoos and a muscular physique. And Grantaire would have been attracted to him, if he weren’t so goddamn terrifying. “It’s good to see you here. I didn’t know this was your kind of thing.”

“Most of our conversations aren’t exactly what I’d consider verbal.” Enjolras whips his head over to look at Grantaire with a shocked look on his face and Grantaire laughs. “We box together.”

“Oh.” Enjolras says. “That’s it?”

Grantaire gives him a look. “Yes? Should there be more?”

“No.” Enjolras clears his throat. “Let’s begin. Everyone this is Grantaire and…” He looks over at Combeferre who reluctantly pulls away from Eponine. “Combeferre’s…girlfriend?”

“Oh my stars.” Eponine mutters with a gentle blush on her face. “I’m Eponine. Nice to meet you.”

Enjolras introduces Combeferre (which seems a little unnecessary), Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Feuilly. “We’re missing Marius and Cosette today, it seems that he’s having dinner with her father.”

Grantaire whips his eyes to Eponine who stares back at him in equal amounts of shock. “Pontmercy?” She asks.

“You know him?” Enjolras asks.

“Not really.” She settles back into Combeferre’s side and holds his hand tightly. Grantaire will definitely be talking to her later.

“Alrighty then, let’s start this week’s meeting.” Enjolras opens a binder with colour coordinated tabs. “First, we need to address the change in venue. This location’s hours will be changing, and we’d love to have Feuilly join us for every meeting. We have quite a few options that we’ll be voting on. Because we're all equal, comrades.”Enjolras says the end of his sentence in a Russian accent and Grantaire is in love.

Enjolras names off a whole bunch of places that he’s never heard up, but most of them vote for a different location of this cupcake shop up in Queen Anne because of parking. He learns that most of them live below the lake separating the two sections of Seattle, except for Bahorel who lives in West Seattle. But he doesn’t mind the commute.

“Second order of business. The rally at the University of Washington. When should we have it?” Enjolras twirls his pen in his hand.

“I think you should wait until Autumn quarter starts up.” Grantaire says and Eponine narrows his eyes at him. “Right now, campus is just stragglers who have two weeks less in a class than in a normal quarter. They’re stressed and they’re confused and they’re probably concentrating more on their classes right now.”

Enjolras hums thoughtfully. “Thank you. I forgot that it’s summer.” Grantaire eyes his red sweater pointedly. “Oh, yes. I run cold.”

“It’s ninety degrees outside.”

Enjolras shrugs. “That sounds like it would be quite warm.” Grantaire opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and gives Enjolras a sceptical nod.

“Our fearless leader doesn’t feel like a normal person does.” Jehan chimes in, cupcakes half-chewed in his mouth.

“I’ve just got a dark soul that’s probably all coffee.” Enjolras says and Grantaire laughs, a bit manically, but no one says anything. “Alright, so I think we should do the beginning of the quarter then, before the weather turns and before students get too stressed about classes. But after summer lethargy wears off. So…week two?”

There’s a sound of agreement around the table.

Courfeyrac leans forward, just a little tentatively. “So…to address the elephant in the room…what is the rally going to be about?”

“We’ll start with tuition prices, probably.” Enjolras shrugs. “Most students are deep in debt. So, so deep. Ugh…” His voice gets a little dreamy. “So much debt.” He shakes himself. “So they’ll probably agree with us that tuition is insanely expensive, unless their parents are rich, in which case, they won’t give us a second glance. So we’ll talk about impeachment.”

Grantaire scoffs and Enjolras looks at him patiently and expectantly. The rest of the table looks at him and he feels small. “Look, I get it. I hate Trump just as much as the next guy, but is Pence really all that much better?” There are sighs of resignation.

“So…what’s your solution, Grantaire?”

“Assassination.” Enjolras chokes on his coffee, looking like he’s fighting back laughing.

“Be serious.”

“I am wild.” Grantaire smiles at him. “But seriously, it’s gonna take more than just one school across the country for this to work. And people just don’t have it in them.”

Combeferre looks at Courfeyrac. “What about your internet presence?”

“Ooh, I will try. I can’t guarantee anything. But maybe we can make this a students’ protest.” Courfeyrac sounds serious, but it’s hard to take him serious when there’s frosting on his nose.

“Wait wait wait.” Eponine leans across the table to Courfeyrac. “Exactly how many followers do you have?”

“On which social media site?” Courfeyrac smirk is smug. “A few hundred thousand. But you should see my youtube.”

Eponine whistles. “God damn, my friend. I’ll try to reach out too. I run one of them feminist killjoy blogs. They’d probs be into this.” She glances at Combeferre as though that will make him not want her, but he instead just kisses the top of her head and pulls her closer.

“Cool. I love the internet.” Enjolras sighs. “We’ll need posters and stuff for it. Who can—“

Grantaire cuts in before he can think better of it. “I’m an artist.”

“Oh!” Enjolras visibly lights up at that. “We should meet and discuss art and…stuff.”

“I live around the corner from Elliot Bay Books.” Grantaire mentally slaps the hell out of himself. Because who says stuff like that?

“I can come over after one of my shifts?” Enjolras is trying really hard to look nonchalant, but he’s playing with his binder just a little too much.

“Yes.” Grantaire answers too quickly. The table has become too quiet.

A ceramic cup shatters on the floor. Bossuet groans pitifully and Musichetta is already at the counter asking for a broom and a mop. Joly is pulling Bossuet away from it ‘because lacerations’. “This happens at least once a month.” Bossuet drops his head in his hands as Musichetta coos at him and sweeps up his mess.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Joly and I still love you, no matter how unlucky you are.” Musichetta gives him a gentle kiss on the back of his bald head. “This is why we tip well. So we don’t feel so bad when we break a cup or a plate. Or a fork.”

“That was once.” Bossuet protests.

“You had to go to the hospital.” Joly reminds him.

Eponine and Grantaire share a look. He really loves this group.

By the time they’re getting ready to leave, Grantaire and Eponine have saved everyone’s number into their phones. Feuilly goes around and collects their garbage and plates into separate piles and brings them to the bus tubs. Grantaire learns that Feuilly actually works three jobs and doesn’t know what sleep or rest is, so Grantaire respects him with his entire being.

Enjolras hangs back, slowly putting away his binder and notes. Casually making sure that everything is perfectly organised in his messenger bag. Grantaire goes round the table to talk to him.

“So…we’ve got like two months before the big rally. We don’t have to rush the posters.”

Enjolras’ shoulders tighten. “No, no of course not. We don’t have to meet up immediately. Just, you know, whenever you have time. And I have time. And those times are at the same time.” Enjolras stops himself and swallows. “Just…text me. You know, whenever.”

Grantaire can’t help but smile. He hadn’t expected Enjolras to be like this. He hadn’t expected an activist group to be like this. They’re kind of chill, considering the global political climate. “I will. I have a few commissions to do, but as soon as the end is in sight, I’ll give you a call. Or text. Whatevs.”

“I’ll see you later.” Enjolras gives him a gentle smile and leaves the café while putting on a bike helmet.

Eponine has already said goodbye to Combeferre and stands next to Grantaire. “So…I think we’re in love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I work in a gay cupcake place in Seattle called Cupcake Royale and it's delightful. I don't know what's up with this fandom and cupcakes, but I love it.
> 
> It makes me sad when people make Enjolras out to be like this rude af person. But he loves his friends above all and even though he is an actual ass to Grantaire in the novel, he very clearly cares for him too. At least, that's how I interpreted it. But we'll find out more about Enj in the future. I have so many plans. SO MANY PLANS! Please correct my french. I haven't studied it in SO long, so I'm bound to make mistakes.
> 
> Also, I love you all so much and I really hope that you've been enjoying my writing. I'm not the most eloquent story teller and sometimes my brain makes weird jumps that I forget to go back and correct, but I enjoy writing and I love these two. So please tell me what you think and I'll try to get out the next chapter soon!
> 
> Love, Ell
> 
> Je n’ai jamais pense que je vous reverrais -- I never thought I'd see you again


	5. Chapter the Fifth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is a shit barista. I'm adding to my list of tropes. I'm so excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS AND KUDOS! THEY BRING ME LIFE! I would respond to each and every one of you, but then I realised that the best thing I could possibly do for you is just post more chapters!
> 
> Also, I live in Seattle, which is why this takes place in Seattle. It's just easier for me to write in a setting that I know really well.

Grantaire loves to paint. He loves to lose himself in his work, loves the silence, loves the smell. It isn’t uncommon for him to paint for days and forget to eat and sleep. Eponine is there for him with a glass of water and a hot meal. They both know that it would be healthier for him if they just lived together, but Eponine thinks it’s enough to just be there for him and to be aware of his bodily functions when he isn’t.

One of his commissions is a lovely night time rendition of Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia. He likes having the artistic privilege of making something unique instead of recreating a piece by another artist. He used to work in restorations, but it was too much pressure. Instead, he enjoys the gentle craft of imagination.

When he’s finally finished, Eponine is laying on his couch across from him, reading a medical text. He isn’t sure when she got there, but she’s patiently curled up on his sofa. She looks up when Grantaire is still for a while. “May I?” She’s already closing her book. Grantaire’s art has a tendency of pulling at her chest in a suffocatingly beautiful way. Grantaire nods and scrubs a hand through his hair, pushing dark blue and silver paint through his black locks.

Eponine moves to stand next to Grantaire and she gasps. If she hadn’t know that he’d painted it, she would have believed it’s a photograph. First of all, it’s huge. Maybe six feet by four feet. Second of all, Eponine has never been to Salar de Uyuni, but she feels like she’s there right now, staring into a reflected milky way. She takes Grantaire by the hand, ignoring the wet paint. “I want one.”

Grantaire laughs and pulls away from her. “No. This took me forever.”

“Just a small one. You know I’ll pay you.”

That only makes him frown deeply. “I’d never accept your money.”

“You’d accept the food I bought with my money.” She raises her eyebrows pointedly at him. On cue, Grantaire’s stomach rumbles and he opens his mouth. “Already taken care of. I know you probably haven’t eaten for a few days.”

“You know me so well!” He gives her a sloppy kiss on the cheek and picks her up in a hug.

Eponine makes a loud noise of protest, but Grantaire just laughs as he sets her down. She moves back to the sofa and wraps herself in a blanket. “Hey, R? Now that you’re done with all your paintings, are you gonna talk to Enjolras?”

Grantaire freezes. He’d been avoiding Enjolras for reasons he doesn’t even know. But it just feels right to not destroy the image that Enjolras has already made of him in his head. He tries to ignore and starts to put away his art supplies, keeping his back to her.

“Ooh. Hmm. Well, no. What time is the food gonna be here?”

“Soon, probably.” She answers. “You should talk to Enjolras. He’s cute.”

“No...that’s okay.” Grantaire stares down at his paint smeared shirt and pulls it off and tosses it in a corner. “He’s beautiful. And I’m…” He trails off.

Eponine stands and engulfs him in the blanket with her. “Shut your stupid mouth. You’re ridiculously good-looking and if you weren’t basically my brother, I’d had made a move years ago. But c’est la vie.”

“Ep…”

“Just...promise you’ll go visit him tomorrow. Just say hi and ask about the posters. You missed last night’s meeting. Say you’re sorry and flirt.” She makes it sound so easy. But how can fallen Dionysis dare speak to ethereal Apollo? It would be foolish of him to think of them on the same level. But he sighs and nods all the same.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

When the doorbell rings a moment later, Eponine and Grantaire make it over to the door together, still wrapped in the blanket. The delivery guy just stares at them and hands their food over. “Have a good night?”

“Thanks man, you too.” Eponine smiles at him and shuts the door. “Let’s watch Planet Earth. David Attenborough’s voice does things to me.”

“Me too, Ep. Me too.”

\--- --- ---

Grantaire does go the bookstore the next day. He expects to see Enjolras behind the checkout counter, but he isn’t. So Grantaire wanders around for a bit because maybe he’s putting books away. But he isn’t between any of the aisles. Oh no. He’s behind the coffee counter and he spots Grantaire immediately.

“Grantaire! You came!” Enjolras is far too excited to see him. He leans across the counter and waves him over. “I would come out, but I’m supposed to stay back here.”

“It’s fine. How are you?” Grantaire tries for casual, but every time he sees Enjolras, it’s breathtaking. He’s incredibly beautiful, even in the low light of the cafe.

Enjolras shrugs, and it makes him seem so human. “Meh, I’m excited to be off work soon.” He glances around his workspace. “I was about to make myself some coffee, would you like any?”

“Sure. I’ll just take an iced americano.” He pulls out his wallet to pay, but Enjolras just shakes his head at him.

“No, please. It’s my treat. Any room for cream?” Grantaire shakes his head and Enjolras starts pulling shots. He finishes Grantaire’s drink fairly quickly and starts on his own, which Grantaire is horrified to see is three different types of syrup and chocolate.

“Do you taste your coffee?”

Enjolras laughs and steams his milk. “I hate the taste of coffee. It’s the after effects I’m concerned about.”

Grantaire shakes his head in disbelief and takes a sip of his americano. It’s horrible. It’s actually terrible. Maybe it’s the years of living in Seattle that have made him a coffee snob, but this is actually bad coffee. No wonder Enjolras uses so much sweet stuff. What’s really weird is that he’s only ever had really good coffee here, so it has to be just Enjolras’ coffee. It must show on his face, because Enjolras laughs again.

“I’m not actually a barista. They just send me back here sometimes if we’re short staffed. Do you want me to remake it?” Grantaire shakes his head and drinks more of his americano as though trying to prove that it’s good. “You don’t have to drink it like that.” Enjolras laughs again, and it makes Grantaire’s insides hurt.

“When are you off work?” He blurts out before he can second guess himself. “I’d like to talk to you about the poster art.”

Enjolras blinks and takes a sip of his coffee. “As soon as my coworker gets off her lunch, I’m free to go.”

Grantaire nods and squeezes his drink in his hands. There’s no reason for him to be nervous; he and Enjolras aren’t even friends. And he isn’t lucky like Eponine to stumble upon his soulmate like it’s fate. Enjolras is a god among mortals. A really weird god among mortals.

He’s staring and he doesn’t even realise it until Enjolras looks down at his coffee and blushes a little. “It should only be a moment. She left a while ago.”

Grantaire clears his throat and nods dumbly. “I’ll go look at art books for my collection. Come and get me when you’re done?” Enjolras smiles at him and he stumbles away into the row of books around the corner. He wants to look at art boos, but he’s distracted by the idea that he’ll be spending time with Enjolras soon. Alone.

For about ten minutes, Grantaire spaces out and stares at the lines of impressionism books until Enjolras comes up to him. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah. My place is about two blocks away?”

Enjolras nods and leads them out of the bookstore, stopping only to say goodbye to someone behind the counter. He stretches his arms above his head as soon as they’re outside and lets out a sigh of the century. “Oh, I’m so happy to be off work.”

“I bet. What time did you start?”

“Five thirty.” Grantaire blinks at him. “What? There are people who start much earlier than me.”

“Yeah but...it’s four.”

“Meh. It pays the bills.” Enjolras follows Grantaire into his building and up the stairs. “You have a nice building. Clean.”

“Thanks.” Grantaire is a little uncomfortable when it comes to talking about his lifestyle. He wants to live a certain way, and he works really hard to keep it. But he doesn’t like talking about it. “Here it is. Home sweet home.” He pushes the door open and kicks his shoes off.

It’s scorching hot outside, and he goes straight for his air conditioning. Enjolras wanders around his living room and stops in front of his bookcase. He snorts and then laughs. “You’re a real nerd, you know that?” Grantaire turns and cocks his head to the side. “Like a closeted nerd. Neil Gaiman, Eve Ensler, Rousseau. It’s a great collection, I’ll give you that.”

“I try to keep things interesting.”

Enjolras is back to moving around his living room and makes it to where his canvases are hiding. He gasps quietly when he sees Grantaire’s latest commissions drying against the wall. “‘Taire...these are amazing. I’m so happy you stumbled upon us. You’re really gonna help us?”

Grantaire rubs the back of his neck. He isn’t used to be complimented on his art work by some so sincere. Or Eponine, who just demands art work. Enjolras is still staring at the pieces and Grantaire decides to paint him something. Paint him. His blue eyes are wide, his expression soft as he peers closer at the art.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras stands straight again and takes a few steps towards Grantaire. “I’m hungry.” And clearly, he is the master of segues.

Grantaire laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “I should have some food in my fridge. Lord knows I eat out too much.” He opens his fridge and bends down to go through it. There’s some leftover Chinese food, some left over Korean food, Japanese food, Thai food. “Alright, so I guess I only eat Asian food, and I guess that it’s all take out. Please eat anything you’d like. Unfortunately, all I have to drink is alcohol, water, and orange juice.” He continues to stare into his fridge, partially cooling off, partially looking for food. Enjolras is quiet for too long, so Grantaire turns his head to see the other man staring at him with a slight blush on his face. “Sorry I don’t have more.”

“What? No. You’re more than accommodating.” Enjolras shakes his head and reaches for a takeout box in Grantaire’s fridge. The movements get them too close and Enjolras’ hands are cold when they brush against Grantaire’s on the refrigerator door. Grantaire holds his breath until Enjolras moves away and closes the door as Enjolras goes through the drawers to find a fork. “Thank you.”

As it happens, Enjolras pulled out the Thai food and he eats it cold. And it’s strange to watch someone so incredibly beautiful sitting on the floor next to a couch eating cold leftovers.

“Orange juice?” Grantaire croaks out and receives a nod. 

“Can you put ice in it?”

“That’s a definite no, my friend.” Grantaire pours the orange juice and brings it to Enjolras in his living room. “Don’t you run cold?”

“Yeah, but I figured ice is a better request than putting it in the microwave.” Enjolras is devouring the Thai food and there’s sauce on his cheek and he looks like he’s about five years younger and Grantaire is struck with the sudden and undeniable urge to kiss him senseless. He swallows thickly and goes back into the kitchen to get himself some ice water.

“God damn, you’re weird.” He says as he fills a glass.

“That’s nicer than what some people have said.” Enjolras’ mouth is full, but he’s still talking. “So, these posters. How good are you at caricatures?”

“I’m sure I can pull one off. Who do you have in mind?” Grantaire sits on the floor in front of Enjolras and cradles his ice water in his hands.

“Trump. Obviously.” Enjolras is still munching when he takes a swig of his orange juice and Grantaire desperately wants to say something about his eating habits, but remains quiet. “Caricatures of Trump will obviously get our point across, but I think something pretty will also be nice. Jehan always suggests flowers. Because he’s a florist and thinks everyone loves flowers as much as he does. Courfeyrac always suggests glitter. Ooh!” Enjolras sets everything down and swallows. He has a bright look in his eyes that Grantaire wants to drown in. “What about something like a movie poster from the early 20th century? You know what I’m talking about? Like a marquis but in print? Mm, maybe not. Hang on. What about…”

Enjolras drifts into a million ideas, and Grantaire has a vague notion to write it all down, but he’s rooted to the spot, watching Apollo pontificate to himself, murmuring ideas and then deciding that they’re wrong. Making humming and clicking noises, food forgotten. Grantaire just listens and tries to absorb everything that he’s saying.

“Space!” Enjolras cries suddenly and Grantaire jumps. “Sorry, I was thinking of your painting. People like space, right? Ugh. Never mind. I’m not very creative. Wait, here we go. I think I’ve got some brain juices going--”

“Are you sleep deprived?” Grantaire cuts in.

Enjolras blinks at him and then looks down at himself as though he’s aware of himself suddenly. “Oh. I think so. When’s the last time I slept? Usually Combeferre keeps track of these things for me. But he’s currently…” He raises his eyebrows at Grantaire and then waggles them. “You know. Maybe not since the last meeting. Grad school is hard, I’ll tell you that.”

“You’re a grad student?” Grantaire shakes his head. “No wonder. Do you wanna take a nap?”

“Oh, I’d just go home for that. Tomorrow’s my day off. I’ll sleep when I’m done at the lab tomorrow.”

“It’s not a day off if you’re still working, Enj.” Enjolras blushes and Grantaire isn’t sure why. “Just...if you wanna take a nap, that’s fine and I’ll work on some poster sketches that you can look at when you wake up.” Enjolras nods and starts to curl up on the floor, but Grantaire stops him and guides him to the couch. “I’ll be quiet.”

Enjolras nods and curls up on the sofa. He regards Grantaire warily as the artist moves around the room. But after about five minutes, when Grantaire looks over again, Enjolras is sleeping. And, oh, he’s pretty. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he moves to his bedroom to answer it. It’s Eponine.

“Hey, did you go see lover boy?”

“He’s passed out on my couch.” Grantaire says distractedly while he searches for his graphite and sketchbook.

“Oh, R. What did you do?” There’s a man’s voice in the background and he sounds concerned. “ _Non, il dit qu’il est endormi. Grantaire est_ ….not a murderer.” Eponine sighs. “Grantaire, responde--answer me.” She finishes in english.

“He says he hasn’t slept in a few days, so I suggested he sleep on my couch.”

“The really nice one?” Eponine whines. “That’s _my_ sleeping couch.”

“First of all, it’s my couch. Second of all, aren’t you happy that we spoke to each other? Now I’ve got a freaking Adonis sleeping in my living room. Consensually.” Grantaire lets out a triumphant noise when he finds his art supplies and sets up at his desk by his bed.

“I don’t think that last part was necessary to say, R.” Eponine’s voice gets a little distance. “ _Je pense qu’ils sont amoureux_.” A pause. “ _Il mérite d'être heureux_.”

“Are you with Combeferre?” Grantaire asks as he starts drawing. 

“What was your first clue?” Eponine deadpans. “I just wanted check in and see if you kept to your word and went to see your sexy man. As it happens, you did, so I guess I’ll see you later. Good luck!”

“Ep! Wait--” But it’s too late, she’s already gone. Grantaire sighs and throws his phone on his bed after putting it on silent and gets back to drawing out posters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what Grantaire painted [Salar de Uyuni](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/a9/35/d1/a935d1b92f52defb93aa9d79de0f6177.jpg)
> 
> Non, il dit qu’il est endormi -- No, he's sleeping
> 
> Je pense qu’ils sont amoureux -- I think they're in love
> 
> Il mérite d'être heureux -- He deserves to be happy
> 
> I love your feedback! If there's a trope that you're dying for in this fandom, now is the time to say it. I'll write it in here. I want all the tropes. Forever and ever.
> 
> There is a high chance that Enjolras won't stay this weird forever. He's sleep deprived because I'm sleep deprived and we're just a huge mess


	6. Chapter the Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is lonely and weird, probably because he spends so much time alone.

Grantaire goes into the kitchen about an hour and a half later to hydrate. Enjolras is sitting up on the couch, his eyes squinting at an unfixed distance. He doesn’t seem to notice Grantaire, so Grantaire sits next to him and lets him slowly come to.

“So…I forgot what naps are like.” Enjolras’ voice is a little groggy and his eyes are still distant. “You know when you wake up from a nap and there are strange patterns in your vision?” Grantaire shakes his head. “Oh, well, they appear to me quite often. Very geometric. Pretty even. Colourful. They’ll go away in a moment.”

“Are you...feeling better?”

“I’m definitely well-rested. I’m excited to get to my bed later tonight.” Enjolras stretches and cracks his back.

“Do you live far?” Grantaire kicks himself. He should have asked that before letting Enjolras pass out on his couch. “I can call you a cab.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “No need. I only live about a mile east of here.” He moves to stand up, but gets dizzy and settles back down. “How did artisting go?”

Grantaire shrugs. “They’re just sketches. But I can elaborate on them if you see some that you really like.”

Grantaire goes back into his room to grab the posters and hands them to Enjolras. The blonde is silent for many moments as he goes through them and Grantaire rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I'm sorry if the words don't make much sense, I don't even know what your group is called. Or really much about what you stand for. Or even if--”

Enjolras waves his hand to cut Grantaire off. “Shut up a second. I'm trying to decide which ones are my favourites. But I can't decide.” He lays down a poster that has space in the background and in big white letters it says, “NASA wants you to join to her revolution”. Another has no drawings but it just says “Trump is in office because you were too lazy to vote. What are you gonna do about it now?” There are more and Enjolras lets out a frustrated noise and pulls them all back into his arms.

“I'm gonna go and consult the roommates. They'll help us narrow down.” Enjolras stands and looks down at the floor sheepishly. “These are all so incredible. Thank you. I'll...text you.”

“Please let me get you a cab home. It's late and dark and you're very pretty and someone might snatched you right up.”

Enjolras raises his eyes and looks at Grantaire with an unreadable expression, then he smiles brightly. “I've been doing Krav maga for ten years. I think I can handle myself.” He gathers his things and puts his shoes back on. “Hey, R?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't be a stranger. We enjoyed you at our meetings.” And then he's gone.

Grantaire sinks back down on to his sofa and drops his head into his hands. Enjolras is so weird. And it contrasts with how beautiful he is.

\--- --- ---

For the rest of his night, Grantaire ends up staring blankly at one of his canvases. His commissions are complete and all he has to do now is deliver them. But, oh, how he wants to paint something for himself. Paint is expensive and even though commissions pay well, he isn't about to waste tonnes of money on something he isn't sure of.

So instead, he just stares at the canvas and imagines smouldering blue eyes and beautiful golden locks and how he can translate that to a painting. But he can't. Nothing he can imagine even compares to what Enjolras looks like. Everything else is a pale mockery of the man himself.

Eventually, after several hours of uninterrupted staring, the sun rises and slowly, darkness gives way to light and Grantaire realises he hasn't actually slept and maybe he should do that now that he isn't working anymore. But there isn't much of a point now.

He goes to his kitchen because food. And fries himself up some bacon and eggs. And ends up not wanting to eat it. But he forces himself to since he can't remember the last time he actually consumed calories. Probably not since Eponine visited him.

Eponine.

Eponine is living a fairytale romance. A man who speaks the language she learned just for the hell of it. A man that is respectable and respectful. He's perfect for her and it kills him to hate her just a little bit for how incredibly lucky she is. She's flawless and wonderful and she has no reason to be afraid to enter a relationship. But Grantaire… he's all stitches and bandages, ripping at the seams and falling apart under the smallest of stresses. And how perfect Enjolras is. How a perfect weirdo could ever want a human incarnation of a small disaster is a mystery in itself.

But Grantaire refuses to be foolish and give into the insane notion that anyone could want him. He was so convinced just a few weeks ago that he would live and die lost in obscurity. But there's someone who is interested in and might be interested in him.

No. Stop.

He sighs and leaves his apartment to go on a walk.

\--- --- ---

The next time Eponine sees Grantaire, he's halfway up a tree with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He's got a too-fancy camera around his neck and he's looking like he's struggling to get up to a higher branch.

Eponine doesn't let herself be known at first, just watches as her friend grumbles to himself and tries to climb to the top of a massive sycamore. She sips at her iced tea and giggles quietly to herself. Eventually Grantaire does make it to a branch he deems worthy of his ass and snaps several pictures while smoking. He stops taking pictures after a while and just leans back against the tree and just watches the sky.

He seems pensive and it's moments like that Eponine remembers why she's necessary in his life. Grantaire can go long weeks without interacting with another living being and that can't be great for him. But she knows that he'll always welcome her with open arms.

“You, weirdo!” Eponine calls up the tree.

Grantaire startles and looks down to find her. “Hey! Gimme a sec.” He begins his descent down the tree and Eponine winces.

“Please be careful!” She’s enjoying this far less than when he was going up. R may do ballet, but he is not graceful.

“Yeah okay mom.” He shoots back and about five feet from the ground, he slips and falls from a branch. He lands with a unceremonious _oof_ and rolls onto his back. “You're right. I should have been more careful.”

Eponine sits next to him and rubs his head gently in sympathy. “If the entire world listened to me, it would be a better place.”

“You should become master president of the world.” it takes some melodramatic groaning, but eventually Grantaire is on his feet.

“No. I'd be in the background. I don't my name or face attached if shit goes sour.” She stares at him for a moment. “So...how's Enjolras?”

Grantaire lets out the loudest noise of despair she's ever heard as he throws his head back. “No...I was trying so hard not to think about him. I took pictures of eagles and hummingbirds to forget about him and you had to go ahead and remind me.” She raises an eyebrow at him and he sighs. “He picked out three posters that I have to make look pretty and he said that he'd be happy with just the sketches because ‘they're just so perfect’. What a perfect asshole.”

Eponine snorts. “Well, once you see his asshole. You can tell me if it's perfect or not.” Grantaire blushes straight down his chest and shakes his head rapidly and she only laughs at him. “I’m just fucking with you. I don’t want you to tell me about your sex life. Please and thank you.”

Grantaire rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and leans against the tree. “I'd probably never tell you anything about the sex unless it's out of this world…”He drifts off a moment, his face getting even redder. “But, honestly, I don't think this thing is gonna go anywhere. I mean, you know, I'm not holding my breath or anything like that.”

Eponine tries so hard not to roll her eyes into oblivion. “When did you last see him?”

“He stopped by a few days ago. Tuesday, I think?”

“it's Sunday! You haven't seen him all week?” Eponine starts shoving her hands into Grantaire’s pockets until she finds his phone and shoves it into his hands. “Call him. Right now.”

“I can't do it if you're watching me.” Grantaire complains and tries to put his phone away, but Eponine is adamant, so he sighs and dials tell number that he's memorised.

It rings twice and Enjolras picks up. “Hi! Hello, how are you?” He sounds a little breathless, but Grantaire doesn't ask.

“I'm fine. How are you?”

Eponine stares at him and slowly shakes her head and mouths _are you fucking kidding me?_

Grantaire turns around to ignore her. “Oh, I'm good. I'm trying my best to dismantle the patriarchy, but it's proving to be a formidable foe.” Enjolras laughs.

“You nerd,” Grantaire says fondly. “no one speaks like that anymore.”

“I work in a bookstore. I think I'm allowed to speak like the writings for Vladimir Nabokov.” An awkward pause. “So...I imagine you didn't call just to hear my voice.”

“I did.” Grantaire wants to slap himself. “Mere mortals such as myself yearn to hear your golden vocals, Apollo.”

“That's the most flattering thing anyone has ever said to me ever.” Enjolras sounds faint. “But really, what's up?”

 _Ask him out_. Eponine presses. “I've finished the posters. I can bring them to you if you'd like.”

“Oh.” Disappointment maybe. Grantaire doesn't dwell. “Sure. I'm free tomorrow around noon. Does that work?”

“Yeah, I'll see you then.” They say an awkward goodbye and hang up.

Eponine has her face in her hands. “You're so fucking hopeless. Both of you.” She sighs. “Just...kiss him when you see him tomorrow.”

Grantaire shakes his head quickly. How could he possibly think of sullying perfect lips with his? What a horrible act of heresy it would be. “I can't do that. I can't sully him.”

It's moments like this that Eponine wants to grab Grantaire and shake him so hard that he believes that he's worthy of love. But that wouldn't help either of them, so she doesn't do that, but she does pull him into a tight hug. “I love you, Grantaire, no after what your choices. But know that I want you to be happy.”

Grantaire says nothing more about Enjolras, but he hugs her back. “You wanna see my eagle photos?” it's a horrible excuse and they both know it, but Eponine smiles and pulls away. And Grantaire pulls his camera around and clicks it on. “Lemme just say how weird eagles look head on. They’ve got some weird face. They’re beauty, they’re grace, they’ve got a weird ass face.”

Eponine laughs and looks at his photos. “You know they’re our national animal and also endangered, right?” Grantaire shrugs so she takes that as a yes. “Print me one. Any one. Even one with a weird face. I don’t care. I want more of your art in my apartment and office. You’re all the family I need.” She laughs a little. “But really, if you choose one with a really weird face, I’ll stick it in my office for all my patients’ parents to see.”

Grantaire furrows his eyebrows and stops flipping through pictures. “You mean humans? Because your patients are animals. Is that what you’re saying to me? You want humans to see my art?”

“Yeah, whatever. You get it.” Eponine finishes off her iced tea and goes off towards a bin. “Anyways, I didn’t think I’d bump into you here and I’ve kinda gotta do a thing. But tell me about how it goes with your man, okay?” She gives Grantaire another hug. “Go be gay and merry.”

“Ha! Yeah, okay.” Grantaire rubs the back of his neck when they pull away from each other. “I’m gonna take more pictures of birds. I was gonna head for another tree. That one, over there by the reservoir.” Eponine thinks that’s a bad idea, but she’s confident he won’t get seriously injured. “I’ll let you know how it goes with Enjolras.”

“Good. I’ll see you later.” The last thing she sees as she leaves the park is Grantaire struggling up a tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a shorter chapter and pretty uneventful, I also wrote most of it on my phone... But I hope you liked it!! Comments fuel me like orange juice. I love each and every one of you who are sticking through this with me. I promise to not take anymore random five month hiatuses. I LOVE YOU! also, come harass me on [tumblr](pyx.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter the Seventh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I decided I wanted a chapter in Enjolras' perspective and then...this kind of ran away from me. Because I was sick of writing temporally linear nonsense. So have this really easy and not confusing at all chapter. Love, Ell

Grantaire ends up at the next meeting in the gay cupcake shop. And Enjolras tries really hard not to let his eyes widen in surprise. After their meeting a couple of days ago, he thought he'd never see the artist again. But let's just live in the here and now and totally forget about two days ago.

_“Hey Enjolras.” Grantaire greets as he gets closer to Enjolras, posters rolled carefully into a tube._

_“Hey yourself, stranger.” Enjolras pushes himself from the wall and looks excitedly at the tube in Grantaire’s hands. “I can’t believe that you did this for us.”_

_Grantaire rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, when you’ve got an addictive personality…”_

Enjolras clears his throat and carefully sips at his mocha that Courfeyrac lovingly calls ‘diabetes in a cup. Probably because it has chocolate, white chocolate, vanilla, caramel, and lavender syrup in it. A month ago he’d been told that he has low blood sugar, so what better way than to fill up his daily coffee intake with sugar. It’s super unhealthy, but now he doesn’t get light headed when he stands up anymore, so that’s cool.

Feuilly bursts through the doors, red-faced and chest heaving. “I’m sorry! I’m here. You wouldn’t believe what some idiots think about Poland.” Grantaire lifts his eyes at Feuilly in confusion. “I’m a TA for European history at the university.” He says in explanation and Grantaire nods. “Someone asked me if diamonds were their biggest export. Obviously, they’re the biggest export of amber. I mean, my god, do they know nothing about Poland?”

“Because everyone knows that about Poland.” Courfeyrac says, obviously sarcastic.

“I know. What philistines.” Feuilly goes to the counter to order and comes back grumbling, but with coffee.

Enjolras chuckles and gives Feuilly a clap on the shoulder. “Well, we're happy you're here to join us philistines.”

Feuilly blushes a little and looks down sheepishly. “Obviously, I don't think you guys are philistines. You aren't Poland enthusiasts.”

“We really aren't.” Bahorel says as Feuilly drops into the seat next to him. “We love you anyways.”

A weird look crosses Feuilly’s face and Enjolras risks a glance at Grantaire who is pointedly avoiding looking at him.

_“Addictive?” Enjolras laughs. “I suppose if you're addicted art you're in the right field.” He takes the tube of posters and squeezes it just a little too hard. When Grantaire doesn't answer, he clears his throat and shifts from foot to foot. “ So...what are you up to for the rest of the day?”_

_“Pretty much nothing.” Grantaire shrugs._

_Enjolras is properly excited. “Cool. Walk me home?” Grantaire nods numbly._

“Now that we're all here, I'd like to call this meeting to order.” Enjolras pulls the tube of posters out and lays them open on the table. “First order of business is to thank Grantaire for his incredible art.” There's a sound of awe and excitement when people see the posters. “Aren’t they amazing?” He still thinks they’re incredible every time he sees them. He can’t wait to see what other surprises Grantaire has for them, provided he sticks around.

Les Amis praises Grantaire’s art and thanks him for his contribution, the artist ducks his head and blushes in response and Enjolras wants to reach across the table to take his hand to comfort him. But that would be weird, so he doesn’t.

_Grantaire is quiet for most of the walk, letting Enjolras talk about his day at work and the weird things his customers say. “Can I ask you something?” Enjolras takes a break from his rambling._

_“Of course.” Grantaire slows his step a bit, because it sounds like it could be a serious question._

_Enjolras takes a deep breath. “So...that day that you came into the bookstore and practically ignored me,” Grantaire chuckles. “What happened?”_

_“Oh, there was this girl I met that wanted us to have sex between the rows.” There’s a deep sting of jealousy that courses red hot through Enjolras unguarded and unchecked. It’s a surprise and he feels his pulse shooting through the roof. “But she creeped me out, so I ran. But I really wanted the books, so…” Grantaire seems to notice Enjolras’ face. “Are you okay?”_

Enjolras pulls out his binder and sets it on the table. “Question for everyone. Does anyone know where we can get these duplicated?”

“Kinkos.”

“Literally anywhere.”

“Pike Place Press.”

“That one purple place.”

“The university has a really expensive printer.”

“I have a printer.”

“Guys, Kinkos.” Joly repeats himself a bit louder over the clamour. “It’s cheap, it’s fast, and no one wants to use your printer, my love.” He kisses Bossuet on the cheek. “There’s one right next to my apartment. Or there’s one on campus.”

“Ooh, what are you studying?” Grantaire says, unhelpfully and he ignores the glare that Enjolras sends his way.

“I’m in my final year of med school. Thankfully, my hospital is at the university.” Joly holds his hand out for the tube. But Enjolras shakes his head and proceeds to carefully roll up the handmade posters and put them away.

“I can take them.”

“You aren’t even a student anymore.” Joly says and Enjolras laughs.

“I don’t feel like I am, but I’m pretty sure my transcripts say otherwise.” Before Grantaire can ask. “I’m an environmental engineering grad student.”

“Eww, why?” Grantaire says and that causes a laugh around the table.

“Because politicians are garbage, and I think as an environmental engineer, I can actually get something done.” There’s a tightness in his voice that he wishes will go away, but he’s still upset.

_Grantaire grabs him by the shoulders to steady him and Enjolras raises his eyes to drown in stormy grey eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just...I’m glad I didn’t have to clean sex juices off of the bookshelves.” He aims for sarcastic and light-hearted and misses his mark by a mile._

_Enjolras sways closer to Grantaire and curls his fingers in his shirt. And watches as Grantaire eyes widen. “I--I wouldn’t have actually--”_

_“I know.” Enjolras’ eyes flicker down to Grantaire lips._

The table is quiet for a moment and then Bahorel laughs. “Oh man. I can’t believe you’re still defensive about being an engineer.” He leans across the table to get a little closer to Grantaire even though they’re on opposite ends of the table. “This guy was so ready to go to law school, started taking all these philosophy classes and one day, his dad calls him up and tells him how proud he is that he’s following in his footsteps. So, the next day, this guy goes to his advisor and tells him that he’s changing his major to environmental engineering. And it took him two extra years to graduate. Just as a fuck you to his parents.”

Grantaire laughs like he can’t help it and hides his face in his hands. “Fight the power.” He grumbles behind his hand and Enjolras’ heart swells just a little bit.

_Enjolras leans a little closer, but Grantaire pushes him away, a blush high on his cheeks. “I'm not...good enough for you.”_

_Those are the last words Enjolras ever expected to hear and his first instinct is to shake love into Grantaire. But that would be weird, so he instead balls his hands in the front of his shirt and practically yells, “Who the hell lied to you? Not good enough for me. Are you insane?”_

“My father is a corrupt politician. I'd hate to be anything like him.” Enjolras wants nothing more than to ever talk of his family ever again. But he knows he'd never be so lucky.

Grantaire nods, but otherwise doesn't make much of an acknowledgement of Enjolras. And that hurts. But giving him time and space is important. As long as he gets to keep Grantaire in his life 

“Anyways! Enough about my family. Have we decided that Joly will be taking the posters to get printed?” Joly nods. “Cool, then you can take the money out of our accounts. Combeferre will assist you.”

“What should we do with the originals?” Joly asks.

“Frame them.” Enjolras answers immediately and his face colours. Grantaire’s head shoots up and he stares at him like he's grown another head. “I wanna keep them…” He finishes off sheepishly.

There's a weird silence until Grantaire huffs out a laughs. “Jesus, Apollo. You can't just say that about a guy's art.”

_“You're perfect and beautiful and smart and I'm...and useless artist shut in.” Enjolras shakes his head at every word. “You can't want me.”_

_“You don't get to tell me what I want. I am nothing but flesh and blood and thoughts and feelings. No more than you are.” He wants so badly for Grantaire to see that he's worthy of more than he thinks. But he knows that people don't work that way._

“I want the space one!” Jehan exclaims. And Enjolras wants to fight him instantly. But he doesn't have a monopoly on Grantaire’s art, so he nods his head. Albeit a little shakily. 

“I can make you a proper space painting.” Grantaire says.

“But it's the wording you know?” Jehan tries to explain. “It's like...you wouldn't want a movie posters without the title and stationary credits.”

“I wouldn't say no to a painting.” Enjolras confesses quietly. “I'd even pay.”

Eponine snorts. And honestly, Enjolras forgot she was even here with how involved with Combeferre she is. “Like R would accept money from you. He doesn't even accept money from me.”

“I’d insist.” Enjolras presses.

_“I'm not trying to tell you that you don't get to feel a certain way.” Grantaire gently pries Enjolras’ fingers from his shirt. “I’m just saying that you know me a certain way now, and that's not how I always am.”_

_“Nobody's perfect, Grantaire. And nobody should expect anyone to be perfect. Because that's a garbage standard of being.” Enjolras runs a hand through his hair. “Fine, I guess that's fine then.” He sighs. “I guess I'll see you later then?”_

_Grantaire makes a non-committal noise and it's physically painful. Enjolras nods and starts to walk back to his apartment. He takes a few steps and because he can't help it, he looks back. Grantaire is still watching him, but he doesn't turn away when Enjolras makes eye contact._

“Okay, well. This is a weird conversation. Can we go back to talking about rallies and political figureheads. I don't believe in global warming. I'm glad that Bernie lost. I don't care about the bees. Democrats are garbage.” Grantaire is trying really hard to change the topic.

“You don't care about the bees?” Enjolras is offended on a personal level, even though he's well-aware that this is a cry for help. But bees? “Lemme tell you something about this really cool thing called the ecosystem.” Grantaire eyes widen a weird look comes across his face. “Bees are fundamental the entire fucking world. Without bees there's no flowers, no crops, no grass, no cows, no meat, nothing. We all die.” His speech continues for a little while longer and though the rest of the table has started their own conversations (because they've all heard this before), Grantaire sits riveted and listens to every word until they leave for night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO FRENCH! A whole chapter without any French. Holy chicken fingers, I don't know how I did it. Anyways! I hope you enjoyed it, as usual! :D Please write reviews because they are my life blood and they fuel me when nothing else does.


	8. Chapter the Eighth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have an awkward conversation and more weird Enjolras

“God, Ep, I'm so fucked.” Grantaire curls into a ball on his fancy sofa and screams internally. “He made a move on me.”

“Wow. Your life is so hard.” So, no sympathy from Eponine. He only groans in despair. “Will you just get over it and make a move back? Jesus, I know you're basically already in love with him.”

Grantaire sits up quickly and regards her with a hostile expression. “How dare you. How could you even--I'm not--don't be preposterous.”

“You've totallly convinced me that you aren't in love with him.” She goes into the kitchen and pulls out a whole bundle of bananas. “Look, I left work early for you today. I told people that there was a family emergency. But no, Grantaire is just sad that his affections are returned. Just do something about it. No one likes a moper. That's right, I said it. Get off your ass and get in his.”

“Ugh. Stop. Why are you so obsessed with his butt? Are you and Combeferre doing kinky butt stuff?” To his surprise, Eponine just blushes. “Ugh, gross.”

“No, that's not... we aren't... we haven't done anything yet.” She admits quietly.

“Oh...he's abstaining from sex with you.” Grantaire says and Eponine groans loudly.

She breaks open the banana in the middle with a loud cracking noise and munches angrily. “It's not even like I need to have sex with him, but we've only gotten to first base. And it seems like he wants more, but he won't ask for it.”

“So tie him to the bed and show him who's boss.” Grantaire thinks the solution is easy.

Eponine hesitates and breaks open another banana. “I'm not really sure he wants that either. I think he wants...time.”

“Go on a date. Maybe bring it up in conversation.”

And...that's actually reasonable advice. Grantaire has a tendency of saying shit that isn't at all helpful, so when Eponine stares at him for a little too long, he can't even begin to blame her.

“I'll ask him tonight.” Eponine finishes off her banana and starts on another one. Grantaire has tried many times to stop her from stress eating bananas, but to no avail. Eponine is a woman of few vices and if eating bananas is one of them, Grantaire can hardly consider it unhealthy.

Silence descends upon them until Eponine finishes off her bundle of bananas. Grantaire eventually breaks the quiet 

“What are bowel movements like after you eat this many bananas?”

“Quick and smooth.”

\--- --- ---

Combeferre, of course, immediately agreed to a date with Eponine when she called him that evening. And so she finds herself a few days later sitting a too-fancy restaurant waiting for Combeferre.

She is, of course, early. And he is, unsurprisingly, right on time. She stands when he approaches the table like it's the most natural thing in the world to do. And he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles like she's a dame and he's a duke.

“ _Bonsoir, mon coeur_.” He’s more than courteous and it makes Eponine’s head spin just a bit as she sits down.

“ _Bonsoir_.” She takes his hand over the table and runs a thumb over his knuckles.

A worry line creases between his eyebrows as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “ _Je comprende_.”

Eponine looks up sharply at his tone and the colour from her face drains. “ _What_?” And then it clicks. “Shut up, that's not why I asked you on this date. We're staying together, you weirdo.” She shakes her head. “Where did you even get that idea?”

“The way you were holding my hand…” Combeferre looks sheepish and she takes her hand a little more firmly. “Sorry for hopping to conclusions.”

If she weren't so upset at the moment, Eponine would have found that slip up to be cute. But as it stands, she wants to convince him as much as she can that they're staying together.

“Hey, I wanted to go on a date with you because I wanna spend more time with you. Away from your apartment and away from _Les Amis_.” She leans forward and cups his cheek gently. “I… uhm... _Je t’adore_ …” She internally curses herself. “I want to spend more time with you. In… in… _all_ capacities.” She gives him a look.

It takes a moment for it to sink in, and Eponine recognises the exact moment that it does. Colour flows slowly into Combeferre’s face and he, to his great credit, manages to stay as stony faced as he usually is. His lips form a small ‘oh’ and Eponine pulls her hands back and tugs on her pinky.

Their waiter comes over and Combeferre quietly orders a bottle of red, turning his eyes away from Eponine just long enough to say thank you.

He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it again.

“I don't mean now. Or even this week. I just... I… you know…” Eponine isn't used to not being able to form words properly.

Combeferre remains carefully silent, no longer working his mouth open and closed. The wine is served and he takes a small sip. He sets his glass down and fold his hands on the table.

“Yes.” Eponine narrows her eyes and he elaborates. “I would like that. Very much. This is certainly a better proposition than ending things.”

A small uncomfortable laugh worms itself out of Eponine’s throat and she's instantly reassured that talking about this was a good decision.

“There's a word in want to use. To describe how I would like for it to happen though.” Combeferre focuses on a distance over Eponine’s left shoulder. “It's a type of chemistry…”

“Organic?” She hazards and he nods. “Of course. I mean, as long as we're both feeling it…”

Their server returns and they place their orders.

Combeferre places a hand halfway across the table in open invitation and Eponine takes it eagerly. “I like being with you. And spending time with you. I would like to be able to have a strong emotional relationship with you. I’m not saying this well.”

“No, you are.” Eponine assures. “I think I honestly just wanted to know if it was on the table.”

“It is!”

“Oh, good! Then that’s that.”

Silence descends and it shouldn’t feel awkward, but it does. Combeferre sucks in a breath. “ _Devons-nous parler de ce que nous aimons faire _?” Eponine’s face goes red and he smiles knowingly at her. “ _Rugueux? Gentil?_ ” Eponine prays to the high heavens that no one around them can speak French. “ _Ou peut-être...Faire des galipettes? Ou niquer?_ ”__

__“Oh my stars.” Eponine swallows thickly. “ _Tu es vilain_.” And then their food arrives._ _

__“I suppose we’ll talk about it later.” Combeferre smiles at her smugly, but says nothing more on the subject. She starts eating, looking up at him occasionally just to make sure that he’s also eating. They speak companionably after that particularly naughty part of their conversation._ _

__Eponine is vaguely lost in thought. She had thought that the conversation would have kept a more clinical tone, but when it comes to sex, it’s hard to keep it clean. She tries not to watch the way that Combeferre’s tongue catches stray crumbs. But he catches her every so often and just offers a gentle smile._ _

__When they’re done with their food, he walks her home like a perfect gentleman, and kisses her on knuckles of her hand when he says good night. She grips his hand tighter when he turns to go and pulls him in for a kiss. He tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls her head back to bite gently at her pulse point._ _

__“ _Bon nuit, mon coeur_.” He pulls away slowly, leaving lingering kisses up her neck and against her lips._ _

__Eponine stumbles into her apartment, her legs shaky and slides down against the wall. “Oh my stars…”_ _

__\--- --- ---_ _

__Meanwhile, back at Casa de Enjolras..._ _

__Enjolras paces his apartment floor madly, fists in his hair, because of two increasingly maddening subjects. One, he has a paper to publish describing the effects of silver solar cells versus the effects of platinum solar cells. Two, Grantaire. The incredibly gifted artist and blindingly self-deprecating cynic. It’s driving him slowly to insanity trying to figure him out._ _

__Courfeyrac is sitting in the bay window seat, sipping quietly at his tea and watching Enjolras pace back and forth. It’s been about an hour since this began, and he knows better than to interrupt his roommate when he’s this deep in thought. But it doesn’t stop him from witnessing it. Jehan left immediately when he saw Enjolras in this state, with a fervent promise to come back the next day. Courfeyrac just nodded and gave his florist a gentle kiss on the cheek. And since then, he hasn’t moved._ _

__“I don’t get why…” Enjolras mumbles to himself, a habit he seems unaware of whilst it’s occurring. Courfeyrac writes it down in the notebook next to him. They have an agreement that, if Courfeyrac wants to watch Enjolras lose his mind while pacing, then he has to record everything that he says. “Silver is definitely a better solution than platinum, especially where cost-effectiveness is concerned. Platinum is fucking expensive, Grantaire.”_ _

__A heavy pause. Enjolras stops pacing for a moment and stares at Courfeyrac, eyes narrowed and expression stony._ _

__“You’re not Grantaire.” Courfeyrac smiles sheepishly and just shrugs. “Alright.”_ _

__More silent pacing. “I wonder if I should include my platinum ion reduction findings… Probably. All numbers included. But that would be pro-platinum… I wonder if I wear clothes that don’t make me look gay enough.”_ _

__Courfeyrac starts laughing, the first noise he’s made in an hour and it startles Enjolras straight out of his reverie. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He drops his pen onto the notebook after writing down a mildly-unintelligible transcription. “You know I try so hard not to interrupt you.”_ _

__Enjolras sighs and plops down on the cushion they set up in the bay window. It’s probably the nicest thing about their apartment. “It’s fine. I wasn’t getting anywhere anyways.”_ _

__“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Courfeyrac picks up the notebook and hands it to Enjolras. Enjolras is one of two people in the world who can read his handwriting. The only other person being Combeferre, of course. “There are a lot of gems today. But also a lot of academic things too.”_ _

__Enjolras reads of the list. He has long since stopped being embarrassed by the things he says while deep in thought. “I said that Grantaire has a nice butt. And nice forearms. And a pretty smile. And…” His eyes travel down the list and a blush fills his cheeks. “And that I want to touch his biceps. I could’ve said worse things.”_ _

__“I’m sure that one day you will. If you don’t get this thing between you sorted out.” Courfeyrac claps a hand down on Enjolras’ knee and stands up. “But just so you know, I’m rooting for you. Because it’s been what, three years, since someone’s opened up that back door.”_ _

__“What? No!” Enjolras sputters out and quickly retreats into his room._ _

__“I mean other than masturbating!” Courfeyrac calls from the living room. And Enjolras resolutely shoves earphones into his ears and drowns out everything else that his best friend/roommate has to say to him._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, sorry for taking so long to update!! I got dumped and then my great aunt died and then I had a stroke. Phew! Glad that's all over.
> 
> I added a new tag! Dirty talk. But this chapter isn't quite NSFW, it's so close though. Just that narrow line...
> 
> My French is so polite, so now my search history is nice and colourful with naughty French words. I feel so naughty. This was a particularly weird chapter to write. Sorry that there isn't as much Grantaire! He'll make an appearance again next chapter! Probably, I haven't written it yet... Also, there's gonna be a whole lot of plot. I decided this while I was in the hospital and didn't have anything better to do than stare at the wall while my tests were being reviewed. Oh, also, I'm okay. I probably won't have a stroke again. And even if I do, it'll be pretty minor. Like this one. Anyways! No more talk of strokes. My BAD!
> 
> Devons-nous parler de ce que nous aimons faire -- Should we talk about wha we like to do?
> 
> Rugueux? Gentil? -- Rough? Gentle?
> 
> Ou peut-être...Faire des galipettes? Ou niquer? -- Or maybe...doing somersaults? Or fucking? (I didn't know this, but apparently, "doing somersaults" is the cutesy way of saying having sex in French. And niquer is super vulgar. I feel so weird...)
> 
> Tu es vilain -- You are naughty
> 
> I love your reviews and kudos. And I love you! Je t'aime mes amours!


	9. Chapter the Ninth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sleep deprived, so I’ve been delegating that role to Enjolras, who I headcanon as a chronic insomniac. So his weird habits and my weird habits are one in the same when it comes to not sleeping. I would also love a more diverse Les Amis and it’s impossible to write into prose all of their cultural backgrounds all at once without it being weird. So I’m just gonna do it here. Bahorel I’ve always seen as a huge Samoan guy (kinda like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson), Eponine as ethnically ambiguous. Like blasian or something. Musichetta as Haitian or Cuban. Bossuet as Nepalese. And probably everyone else as white. Sue me, not every group you’re gonna run into is gonna be all POC. I’m the token POC in all of my friend groups. It sucks. Okay, RANT OVER! I LOVE YOU!

“What, you don’t believe in people?” Enjolras stops mid-tirade and turns his attention to Grantaire after he scoffs.

“God, no.” Grantaire shoots back. “It’s because of people that Donald Trump got elected.” He saw the flinch in Enjolras’ eyes, but continues. “Even I thought for just a moment that people wouldn’t be so goddamn stupid and elected that ugly ass, evil, stupid motherfucker.”

“Grantaire, language.” Enjolras scolds. It is a family establishment after all. “And the people rally together, stronger than ever.”

“Yeah, not when it counts anymore!” Grantaire hates this argument. They’ve had smaller versions of it, though less explosive. Eponine is looking between the two of them with a worried expression on her face. “What? Do you think _you're_ gonne be the person to get people to change? Even you, beautiful, fierce, and capable, cannot change people when it really counts.”

“So what? You want me to stand back while I watch the world die? Lie down and take it like you do?”

“Fuck you.” Grantaire stands and slaps his hands on the table. Enjolras stands as well and they lock eyes.

“Don’t put it on me if you are incapable of belief.”

Grantaire sighs and picks up his bag. “You will see.” And leaves. Distantly, he could hear Eponine yelling viciously at Enjolras.

 

\--- --- ---

Needless to say, it’s been a bit uncomfortable since then.

For the next month or so, Grantaire and Eponine attend meetings regularly, usually arriving together and ordering their coffee together so Grantaire doesn’t have to suffer Enjolras’ presence alone. He always sits at the farthest end away from Enjolras and attempts to remain quiet as the marble god pontificates about change. Attempting to remain silent, the occasional scoff notwithstanding. But Enjolras, to his great credit, just powers through it, taking a small breath each time it happens. 

But they’re never alone, so it isn’t a problem, until it is.

Enjolras is unashamedly staring at Grantaire and Grantaire is well-aware that he’s staring right back. But neither of them are saying anything, and maybe that’s for the best because what would they even have to say to each other, other than, _hi, how are you? Oh, I’ve been okay, how about you? A little sleep deprived. Oh, you should maybe sleep more. Yeah, maybe, but I get so much done when I’m not sleeping. I hear that, my friend_. What a great exchange that would be. So no, they stay quiet.

Grantaire does wonder what Enjolras is thinking. His thoughts could either be profound or filled with rage about how messed up society is. Or he’s probably thinking about how rampant depression runs through their populace, but it isn’t seen as an actual disability because it’s mental. He can only guess what his golden haired god is thinking.

“You have really nice forearms."

Grantaire blushes and tugs down self-consciously on his sleeves. “Uhm...thanks, I guess.” Enjolras just nods back, and he looks like he wants to say more, but he remains silent.

Feuilly, much to their surprise, is the next person to show up. He looks at the gap between Grantaire and Enjolras and considers a seat. “Who are you, Mieszko and Boleslaw?” Enjolras narrows his eyes at Feuilly like he could know what he’s talking about. “Get it? Because the land mass of Poland expanded between their rules? Nothing?” He sighs. “Philistines.”

“You use that word a lot. I’m not sure it applies to me.” Grantaire says and leans back in his chair. Feuilly takes the seat next to him. “I’ll have you know that I’m super into art and the expansion of my literary and historical knowledge. Tell me more about Poland.”

“No!” Bahorel, who seems to have appeared suddenly, slams his hand on the table. So loud, in fact, that the baristas behind the counter turn around in shock. “If you wanna know about Poland, go on Wikipedia. This guy, is so knowledgeable in Polish facts, that he can talk Poland until the day we all die.”

“No need to get so vehement.” Enjolras calmly flattens his papers out in front of him. “Courfeyrac! Get me a diabetes in a cup.” Grantaire isn’t sure when Courfeyrac arrived, but he’s already got coffee in his hands.

“Nope.” To Grantaire’s eternal surprise, Courfeyrac puts a cup of drip in front of him and then sets down another cup of drip in front of Enjolras. “You already had one today, and you need to watch your blood sugar. There’s splenda in there for you.” Enjolras makes a face, partway between scandalised and disgusted. “Just drink it.”

Eponine and Combeferre come in together. He bends down to whisper something in her ear and much to Grantaire’s mild disgust, a flush arises in her cheeks. She playfully shoves him away and dark glint in her eyes. No one else seems to have observed that, so Grantaire remains blissfully quiet and listens to Feuilly argue the merits of Polish knowledge to Bahorel, who, much to Grantaire’s amusement, is groaning loudly to drown out his ginger friend.

Enjolras looks around. “Where are the triplets?”

“It’s date night.” Jehan says as he approaches the table. “Musichetta doesn’t get many nights off, so they took this one to celebrate and consummate.”

“Gross.” Enjolras blushes slightly and glances at Grantaire.

“Is our marble leader ashamed of the sins of the flesh?” Grantaire leans forwards and folds his arms on the table in front of him. “Tell me, Apollo, why must you make mortals weep with the thought of your celibate flesh.”

Enjolras scoffs. “I am no more human than you.”

“Oh, but you are more coveted than I. A tease of flawless flesh.” Grantaire strongly wishes for something stronger to be in his mug, but as it happens, all he has is coffee, so he swallows it down like rum. “Shall no one have you?”

Enjolras grumbles to himself, but clearly enough so that Grantaire can hear from across the table. “Well, you would have…” He reaches down into his bag and pulls out a pair of thick rimmed black glasses.

The table is silent for too long. Eponine looks at Grantaire like she’s ready to apologise. But Feuilly interjects. “Let’s...maybe...talk politics.”

“And not sex?” Bahorel is leaning just a little too close to Feuilly, but no one seems to notice. Everyone else’s eyes are darting between Enjolras and Grantaire.

“ _D’accord_.” Combeferre straightens his tie. “We need to talk about the All Lives Matter campaign that will be taking place next month.”

“There’s a what?” Jehan unties is braid and sets about rebraiding it into something a bit neater and more complicated. “We don’t like them.”

“Neither do we. The police will be there. In a predominantly black neighborhood, so I think it’s best that we try to offer some support.”

Enjolras nods along. “We only have a month, I’m not sure how much support we can get, but I think it’d be good to have some people there.” Grantaire scoffs into his coffee and Enjolras turns to him, apprehension clear on his face. “Would you like to say something?”

“Okay, as a non-black person, this could come off as sounding pretty bad. But like...what are a few scrawny white people gonna do to help them?” Enjolras opens his mouth, but Bahorel beats him to it.

“Who are you calling scrawny? And white?” Grantaire holds up his hands in defence. “I clearly don’t mean a seven foot tall Samoan, okay? Or Eponine, who’s...god knows what.” Eponine raises her cup to him in salut. “But like...the rest of us are pretty...average in stature and fair in skin colour.”

“We can be there for them.” Enjolras leans forward as though trying to press this information into Grantaire’s head through sheer force of will. “I can’t do much in the ways of fighting, alright, but solidarity is important, R. People need to know that they aren’t alone.”

“Wait. Wait wait wait…” Grantaire shakes his head and stares at all of them one-by-one in shock. “So...how many of actually know how to defend themselves?” To his utter dismay, only Eponine, Bahorel, and Jehan raise their hands. “Alright, well, there’s problem number one. Most of you are unprepared in case shit goes south. You should least know the basics.”

“Having both the time and the money is difficult…” Enjolras admits quietly, which is a surprise to Grantaire, because he had been so convinced that Enjolras came from money.

In that moment, Grantaire makes a decision that he will probably come to regret. “You give me the time, and I’ll get you the lessons. No money required.”

“How about tonight after the meeting?” Enjolras asks quickly. So quickly, in fact, that that same uncomfortable silence from before descends over the table. “Or. You know, any other time. Ever. When you aren’t busy with paint and...arm exercises.” Grantaire makes a face, lips pressed tight together and brows furrowed, head cocked to the side, and Enjolras shuts up.

“We could probably even use our gym?” He looks over at Bahorel who shrugs. Then he looks at Jehan who’s finished his braid and it looks stunning. “What kind of self defence do you do?”

“Keysi, Lua, and Krav Maga.” He says sweetly, absentmindedly pushing his hair behind his ear.

Grantaire cringes as though imagining horrible things happening to him and shudders. “Alright, well. We’ll just teach basic moves, like how to throw a punch.”

Enjolras crosses his arms and leans back in his seat. “I know how to throw a punch.”

“Look, no offence, but if you just said that you can’t defend yourself, there’s a high chance you’ll break something if you try to hit someone.” Grantaire pauses. “Break something on yourself and probably not the other person. In case that wasn’t clear.” Enjolras opens his mouth to argue, but Jehan gives him a small smile and it’s enough to shut him down.

“I want one-on-one lessons. With Grantaire.”

“You need to stop saying uncomfortable things.” Feuilly mumbles. “I can’t take this anymore.”

Grantaire remains carefully silent and slowly nods. Eponine groans. “They’re gonna punch out their problems. _Devrions-nous les arrêter_?”

“ _Ou...Ils auront des rapports sexuels_.” Eponine looks at Combeferre like he’s grown another head. “ _Devrions-nous parier_?” Eponine smirks and nods.

" _Pour quoi_?"

“Nous déciderons plus tard.” He kisses her temple.

Grantaire chugs down his entire cup of coffee and pulls his bag onto his lap just for something to hold. He’s ignoring the looks he’s getting and ends up pulling out his sketchbook. Feuilly rests his chin in his hand and watches while Grantaire sketches Bahorel’s profile. They both remain quiet for the rest of meeting, involved in Grantaire’s art.

Once people start leaving and saying goodbye to each other, Grantaire gently tears out the page and pushes it over to Feuilly discretely, who immediately tucks it away with a small blush and a quiet ‘thank you’.

Grantaire is going to drive home alone, or so he thinks. Enjolras catches his by the wrist outside. “Hey, I was wondering if we could talk...about a month ago. We haven’t really had the time to talk it out…”

Numbly, Grantaire nods and walks them in the direction of his car. “I’ll drive you home. We can talk about it on the way.” Which would mean, that Grantaire would have to watch his road rage.

Enjolras heaves out a massive sigh of relief. “I think I pushed you too far.” He just straight into it as soon as he’s made himself comfortable in Grantaire’s passenger seat. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve just been...work has been tough.”

“Lab or books?” Grantaire pulls out of his parking spot and drives as slowly as he can without it being conspicuous. “Also, what are your cross streets?” He knows how to everywhere in the city, as long as he knows what streets he’s heading to.

“22nd and Pike.” Enjolras twiddles his thumbs for a moment. Then plays with his seatbelt. “I do think you’re very attractive.”

Grantaire presses his breaks a little too hard at the light. “Nope. That topic is off limits.”

“I told you I was going to prove to you that you deserve nice things. I don’t back away from challenges.” Enjolras is not-so-subtly checking the mirrors and blind spots. “I want you know that you’re worth more than you let yourself believe.”

“Enjolras, I swear to the high heavens. I don’t want to talk about this. I will pull over and gently kick you out of my car.” Grantaire decides to speed up a little.

“You wouldn’t do that.” Enjolras says it with such certainty. Well, he’s right. But he’s still breaking Grantaire’s car rules. “But I’ll stop talking about how talented and attractive you are. And I’ll never mention how I think you should always keep your sleeves rolled up. And how I think you look very striking in a henley.”

“Oh, you aren’t going to mention any of that?” Grantaire grumbles.

“I just want to keep spending time with you.” Enjolras sounds mildly desperate and quiet, so Grantaire looks over, but his face gives nothing away.

After a moment’s deliberation and a stroke of insanity, Grantaire says, “Can I take you out to dinner?”

It takes a second for the question to sink in, but as soon as it does, the smile on Enjolras’ face brightens the entire car and the joy radiating off of him is almost palpable. “I’m free Saturday.” Grantaire swallows thickly and tries to think about what exactly he’s just gotten himself into. “Also, we need to set up days so you can teach me how to kick ass.”

“Great segue.” Grantaire turns onto Enjolras’ street. They still have a few blocks. “You can come to my place on Monday nights? Or anytime on Mondays. Probably best to come by after work.”

A smirk curls itself on Enjolras’ face as Grantaire pulls up to his house. “Oh, Mondays work just fine for me.” Enjolras’ eyes flicker down to Grantaire’s lips. “Thank you for driving me home, R. I’ll see you at 8 Saturday. Don’t be late.”

As soon as Enjolras is safe in his house, that he presumably shares with Courfeyrac, Grantaire drives the eight blocks back to his apartment and curls up on his fancy couch and screams into the pillows. What a hole he’s just dug for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to get this chapter out for so long now. But I was having troubles writing it. I reworked it about five times and ended up deleting the whole thing and starting over. I just want to say that I appreciate each and every one of you. And I'm so thrilled that you're all stuck in Enjoltaire hell just like me. Although...I've recently entered Steve Roger and Bucky Barnes hell and I'm losing my mind.
> 
> Also, I don't know shit about Poland, so Wikipedia has been my best friend. And if you've got weird Poland facts for Feuilly to casually mention, send them to me :)
> 
> Anyways. Here's some French translations
> 
> Devrions-nous les arrêter -- Should we stop them?
> 
> Ou...Ils auront des rapports sexuels -- Or... they'll have sex
> 
> Devrions-nous parie -- Should we bet?
> 
> Pour quoi -- for what?
> 
> Nous déciderons plus tard -- we will decide later


	10. Chapter the Tenth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long to get out. I've been in Stucky hell and I've been thinking mostly about Steve and Bucky, so I started a new fic and I promise I'll keep working on this one!

Eponine had, for all of her infinite wisdom and perpetual patience for the dumb shit that Grantaire has a tendency to get himself into, laughed. Not for a brief moment either. No, she laughed, reclined gracefully on Grantaire’s couch, loud and merry. And even though she was laughing deeply at his misfortune and idiocy, Grantaire couldn’t get mad at her.

Enjolras had sent a message some time after Eponine had stopped laughing, saying that he had made reservations. And the groan he made set her off again.

So when he’s sitting outside of Enjolras’ home at ten to 8 on Saturday evening, he recalls the minutes that Eponine had laughed at him on Thursday evening. He’s trying to take deep breaths to calm down his fraying nerves, but that seems to do no good, so with a heaving sigh, he climbs from his car and rings Enjolras’ doorbell.

Behind the door, there’s the distant sound of the unmistakable tones of Courfeyrac, loud, but too far away for Grantaire to make anything out. A quieter voice, Enjolras, replies and then the door opens and Grantaire’s mouth falls open.

Enjolras’ hair falls in gentle curls to just past his ears and he’s wearing those thick-rimmed black glasses that Grantaire loves so much. But that isn’t what catches his eyes. It’s the fact that Enjolras is wearing a grey v-neck shirt that appears to be a size too small. But, dear god, does it work on him. And Grantaire trying very hard not to stare down at Enjolras’ chest and torso as he bends to put his shoes on. And those jeans. They aren’t skin tight, thank god, but they are just a little too tight to be considered modest.

Enjolras rights himself after pulling on his oxfords. “Hello.” He gives Grantaire a winning smile and steps across the threshold.

Grantaire, after a moment too long, clears his throat. “Hey. So...you look nice.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras responds shyly and follows Grantaire to his car.

There’s a tense silence as Grantaire pulls out of his spot and heads to arterial streets. “Where are we headed?”

“St. Clouds in Madrona.” Grantaire knows where that is. “I thought it’d be nice to be in a quieter neighbourhood and probably less populated with drunk people.”

Grantaire laughs because yes, he would very much like to not be around drunk people right now. They’re quiet for the rest of the ride. But when they’re out of the car, Grantaire offers his arm and Enjolras winds his hand around his elbow. And it feels surprisingly right.

At St. Clouds, the man behind the counter immediately recognises Enjolras and leads them to their table. It’s a quiet booth in the corner by the window. It’s comfortable and they sit across from each other.

“This a date, right?” Enjolras blurts out and Grantaire can’t help but chuckle awkwardly.

“Yes. This is a date. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that obvious when I asked you to dinner and linked our arms together.”

Enjolras blushes and looks down at the table. “Right. Right. So does that mean that…” He trails off and his blush grows on his face. “Can we…” Grantaire waits patiently while Enjolras tries to form the words. It isn’t often that Enjolras loses his ability to speak or even formulate words. Eventually he gives up and just stretches his hand across the table in an obvious invitation. And Grantaire’s heart thuds painfully in his chest as he threads their fingers together. “It’s been awhile since I’ve…” Enjolras swallows and drops his face into his free hand and peeks out at Grantaire a little awkwardly.

“Dated?” Grantaire supplies.

“Not only that. But since I’ve...interacted with anyone. In any way.”

“Oh.” Grantaire blinks and squeezes Enjolras’ hand. “But look at you.”

“Yeah, but I tend to make people anxious.” Enjolras laughs, but there’s nothing humorous to it. “But that’s okay. Relationships tend to be a distraction anyways.”

Oh?” Grantaire says teasingly. “Would you consider me distracting?”

“Very.” There’s no teasing in Enjolras’ voice, but his eyes darken and Grantaire has to take a second and swallow. “You can’t pretend like you didn’t know. I haven’t exactly been subtle, Grantaire.” There’s a weird silence where Grantaire is trying to figure out what to say, but nothing comes to mind and Enjolras seems to notice that because he sighs and his expression softens. “From the moment you came into Elliot Bay Books and were...less than polite to me, I’ve thought you’re this unnaturally attractive human being.”

“But, I’m not. My nose is too big and nothing fits properly on my face.”

Enjolras’ eyes gain a ferocity that he reserves for causes that he’s passionate about the grip on Grantaire’s hand is almost painful. “So what you don’t fit the standards of beauty? Who cares what society thinks? Most people can’t see two feet in front of them on a clear day. So just because you don’t look like Chris Evans that’s supposed to mean that I’m not allowed to think that you’re attractive?”

Their waitress comes up to them, a little hesitantly. “Uhm...so can I start you two off with anything to drink besides water?”

 

In an instant, Enjolras’ expression changes and he looks up at their waitress kindly. “I’ll stick to water thank you.”

“I’ll take a coffee.” Grantaire says. He would order alcohol, but then he probably wouldn’t be able to stop and he doesn’t want Enjolras to see him like that yet. Or ever, really.

The waitress nods and scurries off and Enjolras’ face regains its previous fury.

“So I take it you’re still on the ‘I should think I’m beautiful thing’?”

“You are.” And Enjolras says it so certainly that Grantaire almost believes him. “I’m not only physically attracted to you. I can make a long list of all the stuff that I like about you.”

“I wouldn’t believe you even if you did.” Grantaire sighs and carefully pulls his hand away from Enjolras’. Or at least tries to, but that vice grip tightens.

“I want to go on many more dates with you.” There’s nothing light in Enjolras’ tone.

“Maybe get married?” Grantaire laughs uncomfortably and can’t stop the feeling of awkwardness creeping into their conversation.

“Maybe after date three.”

Their waitress comes back. “Have we decided what we’re going to have?” While Enjolras orders, Grantaire skims the menu and settles on their meatloaf. “We’ll have those right out.”

“Can we...try to have a normal date?” Grantaire asks and Enjolras laughs, right in his face and not even trying to hold it back. “Wow, I didn’t think it would be that impossible.”

“Oh, we are not normal people, Grantaire. Not at all.” Enjolras says when his laughter dies down a bit. “I thought that you knew that already. But I guess, you didn’t. So...surprise!”

“I guess you did say that you make people anxious.” Grantaire grumbles and when Enjolras is quiet for just a bit too long, he starts feeling bag. “Not that I think you make me anxious.”

“Give it time.”

“No, I--” Grantaire struggles for words, pulling his hand away from Enjolras and running his fingers through his hair. “Look, I’ve been single for a few years now. And I’ve been trying not to think about it, but I think it’s been coming up to the surface since meeting you. I’ve been sitting in trees and painting you and thinking about my prior relationships and what I did wrong and how I don’t want to do that this time. And I’m not even really sure how to figure out what I want. I’m not sure of the proper procedure or what I’m supposed to talk about. Or what’s appropriate. I don’t even know what I want.”

Enjolras is staring at Grantaire, a quizzical look in his eyes. He takes a breath. “Are you breaking up with me?” Grantaire laughs and shakes his head. “Because that’s what this feels like. I wasn’t even aware that you’re my boyfriend. Also, I want to see these paintings of me. Don’t shake your head at me. I want to see them. If you’re breaking up with me, I think I at least deserve to see how you see me.”

“You’re funny. You’re like, actually, funny. Well, now you can’t see the paintings because they aren’t accurate. I didn’t know that you’re funny.” Enjolras looks scandalised for a moment. “No, don’t get insulted. I’ve just been envisioning you as, like, this incredible, I dunno, like, perfect human being.”

“Can we go on more dates? And then you can paint me once you have me all figured out and I won’t be insulted if you forget that I’m funny again.” Enjolras leans back in his seat and crosses his arms.

“I didn’t think you aren’t funny. I just thought you said weird, awkward things all the time.” Grantaire extends his hand to Enjolras, who takes it immediately. “You are weird. You are so goddamn weird. And I really appreciate that about you.”

Enjolras laughs and then pulls back when their food arrives. They say thank you. “Well…?”

“Well what?”

“Will you go on more dates with me?” Enjolras says impatiently as he separates the different components of his pasta. Grantaire watches transfixed as Enjolras moves pasta to one quadrant, shrimp to another, tomatoes, and garnish. Enjolras stops and looks up at him expectantly. “Don’t leave me hanging. I’m out on a limb here.”

“Oh...well, I mean. Can we get through this one first?” It’s the wrong thing to say and Grantaire knows it immediately. “I’m just trying to make sure that your standards of me don’t plummet to hell by the end of this.”

Enjolras stabs a tomato with a little too much force. “Oh, because the first time I asked you out, you weren’t at all self-deprecating.” He chews thoughtfully. “I think I’m starting to figure out what your natural state is. You’re like...a hedgehog.” Grantaire starts eating and is super thankful when his coffee is set down next to him. But he motions for Enjolras to continue because, what the fuck. “You’re prickly and you seem like you don’t want people near you. You’re a lone hedgehog. But you’re also very elegant with your art and your posture and intelligence. Don’t even try to fight me on this; I’ve seen your bookshelves. And let’s not forget that hedgehogs are also very cute.”

Grantaire thinks while he takes another bite. Something about that seems very familiar. “Did you just misquote a book at me?” Minus the whole being cute thing, but he’ll ignore that for now. Forever.

Enjolras nods. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Does that mean that I’m gonna die at the end of this novel?” Grantaire drinks some of his coffee while Enjolras huffs out a laugh.

“Not if I can help it.” Enjolras, without any regard to table manners, sticks his fingers in his pasta and rips of the tails of his shrimp and puts the discarded shell in the garnish quadrant. “But I do think you should get a cat.”

“If I’m ever getting a cat, I’ll name it Commodore Beans.” And that name puts the most loving look on Enjolras’ face. “I can’t even take care of myself, Enj. I can’t get a cat. She’ll die.”

Enjolras shakes his head vehemently. “That’s why you’ll have me. I’ll take care of your cat.”

Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut. “Again, let’s get through this date.”

With a childish huff, Enjolras makes a point to be cordial and kind and shovel food into his mouth. “Am I being a good date, Grantaire?” He asks with his mouth full and Grantaire grimaces, trying to hold back a laugh. “You get more of this for as long as you want.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” They eat and Grantaire tries so hard to not listen to the horrible smacking noises that Enjolras is making just to get his attention. But it gets to be unbearable, so while he’s still sticking food in his mouth, he reaches across the table and takes Enjolras’ free hand and gently shushes him.

He misses the way Enjolras’ blush slowly creeps across this cheeks and how he looks down dopely at his food.

\--- --- ---

Dinner goes off without a hitch after that and as soon as they leave, Enjolras links his arm with Grantaire’s again. And Grantaire resolutely ignores the fluttering feeling in his stomach. “Let’s get ice cream.”

“I’m lactose intolerant.” Grantaire says and Enjolras shrugs.

 

“Me too.”

They get ice cream and sit in the park and Grantaire can’t help but watch as Enjolras licks and nibbles at his ice cream. Thank god there aren’t any sounds to go along with it, because Grantaire probably would have died right then and there. “I don’t put out on the first date.” Enjolras says out of the blue some time after they’ve both finished their ice cream and Grantaire jumps because _was he staring that hard for that long_? Enjolras kind of chuckles and leans against Grantaire’s shoulder. “But I could get used to this.”

“Don’t.” It slips out, but Grantaire can’t help himself. “I’m not...I’m not perfect by any means. I’ve got a whole lot wrong with me. I talk to myself way too much; I mean, I have full on conversations. Both sides! And I don’t sleep, like ever, and I always smell like paint and my apartment always smells like paint. And I’m not the greatest cook. And I don’t believe in anything! And I drink too much and I box too much. And I’ve got so many demons. I haven’t talked to my parents in _eight years_. I don’t even know if they’re alive!”

Enjolras is staring at Grantaire, that fierce expression on his face, but he leans forward… And there’s nothing ferocious about his lips. They’re soft against his and...pliant and warm and--Grantaire pulls away a little too fast to be considered polite. But he needs to keep himself in check because all he wants to do now is twist his hand in Enjolras’ shirt and kiss him again.

“You can’t scare me away, R.” He’s staring at a distance somewhere off to his left, but there’s a hurt clear in his eyes. “Nobody’s perfect and I never expected you to be. I’m...idealistic and you’re a cynic. But you ground me. You make me see sense when all I can see is what I want to see. When we argue, it only serves to remind that I need to take a step back and reassess my positions. If I can’t convince you, then I can’t convince anyone. And yours is the only opinion I really care about.”

“Wow, you won’t put out, but you’ll bear your soul?” Grantaire manages to choke out in a teasing manner. Enjolras smiles and pushes their shoulders against each other. “Look, I don’t believe that people are gonna change. But...if anyone can change people’s minds, it’s you.”

The smile on Enjolras’ face grows and a small flush dusts across his cheeks. “Can I kiss you again?” Grantaire nods, not at all trusting his voice. This time, even with the warning, it’s still a surprise to feel Enjolras’ lips against his. But this time, he manages to catalogue how soft they are. How cold they are from his ice cream. And just a little bit sticky. And Grantaire wouldn’t have it any other way. He gently brushes the back of his knuckles against Enjolras’ cheek to gentle tangle his fingers in those golden curls. Enjolras makes a small noise in the back of his throat and pulls away to press his head back into Grantaire’s fingers. 

“Oh my stars.” Grantaire breathes and scratches Enjolras’ scalp. Enjolras makes a wrecked noise and drags Grantaire back in for another kiss, wasting no time in parting their lips and sliding their tongues together. Enjolras’ hand tighten and untighten restlessly at the hem of Grantaire’s shirt and with a gentle nip to his bottom lip, Enjolras pulls away. He’s breathing heavily and his eyes are flitting across Grantaire face and torso and down to his lap.

“My god, you’ve got sinful lips.”

Grantaire can’t help it, he laughs gently. “Yeah, okay.” He says doubtfully and pulls his hands back to himself. “ _I’ve_ got sinful lips.” A little quieter. “Sinful lips.”

Enjolras turns and leans his back against Grantaire’s shoulder and angles his face towards the sky. “You know...I think this date was a success…” A heavy pause. When he doesn’t receive an answer, Enjolras clears his throat pointedly.

“Yes, we’ll go on more dates.” Grantaire ignores the satisfied noise Enjolras makes. “But starting Monday, I’m teaching you how to box.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure you’ll be a fine teacher.” The way Enjolras says it is like verbal sex, dripping sensuality and Grantaire bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself calm. “Take me home, Grantaire.” He says in a more urgent, but equally sensuous, tone. And then he laughs. “I'm only kidding. But please take me home.”

When they stand, Enjolras instantly links his arm with Grantaire’s and ignores the swooping feeling he gets in his stomach. Maybe things will turn out alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will not be alright. And then they will be. Probably. Spoiler alert.


End file.
